There was a tavern named the "Angel" at the corner of one of the streets off Tooley Street, which Edward Hooper had to pass every evening on his way home. Ned, we grieve to say, was fond of his beer; he always found it difficult to pass a tavern. Yet, curiously enough, he never found any difficulty in passing this tavern; probably because he always went in and slaked his thirst _before_ passing it. "Good evening, Mr Hooper," said the landlord, who was busy behind his counter serving a motley and disreputable crew. Hooper nodded in reply, and said good evening to Mrs Butler, who attended to the customers at another part of the counter. "Good evenin', sir. W'at'll you 'ave to-night, sir?" "Pot o' the same, Mrs B," replied Ned. This was the invariable question and reply, for Ned was a man of regularity and method in everything that affected his personal comforts. Had he brought one-tenth of this regularity and method to bear on his business conduct, he would have been a better and a happier man. The foaming pot was handed, and Ned conversed with Mrs Butler while he enjoyed it, and commenced his evening, which usually ended in semi-intoxication. Meanwhile, Edward Hooper's "chum" and fellow-lodger sat in their mutual chamber awaiting him. John Barret did not drink, but he smoked; and, while waiting for his companion, he solaced himself with a pipe. He was a fine manly fellow, very different from Ned; who, although strong of limb and manly enough, was slovenly in gait and dress, and bore unmistakable marks of dissipation about him. "Very odd; he's later than usual," muttered Barret, as he glanced out at the window, and then at the tea-table, which, with the tea-service, and, indeed everything in the room, proved that the young men were by no means wealthy. "He'll be taking an extra pot at the `Angel,'" muttered John Barret, proceeding to re-light his pipe, while he shook his head gravely; "but he'll be here soon." A foot on the stair caused Barret to believe that he was a true prophet; but the rapidity and firmness of the step quickly disabused him of that idea. The door was flung open with a crash, and a hearty youth with glowing eyes strode in. "Fred Auberly!" exclaimed Barret in surprise. "Won't you welcome me?" demanded Fred. "Welcome you? Of course I will, most heartily, old boy!" cried Barret, seizing his friend's hand and wringing it; "but if you burst in on a fellow unexpectedly in this fashion, and with such wild looks, why--" "Well, well, don't explain, man; I hate explanations. I have come here for sympathy," said Fred Auberly, shutting the door and sitting down by the fire. "Sympathy, Fred?"