up of the rooms, the Doctor went slowly down-stairs and out upon the crowded street. He had had to thread his way through the jam at Twenty-fifth Street, and wanted no more of that. A line of hose stretched along the sidewalk from the hydrant at the corner below, and he looked upon it with stern and scholastic disapproval, but followed its lead and came upon a familiar face. It being a "neighborhood" fire, the Metamora Hose had run over from Fifth Avenue and Twenty-first Street, being almost as soon upon the scene as 61. Taking the hydrant at Twenty-fourth Street, her men had unreeled up the avenue and around the stable, giving their "butt" to Lexington 7, who, with their big double-decker, came speeding over from Third Avenue. And now the prettily painted hose carriage was drawn up close to the curb at Twenty-fourth Street, and half a dozen young fellows were lolling about the wheels and tongue, smoking and talking loudly, with much exaggerated imitation of the Bowery dialect of the day. But the slangy, swaggering talk came to sudden stop. Two cigars, at least, were tossed or dropped into the flooded gutters, and two or three hats were lifted as Hoover, Briggs, and a "horsey" young man, whose specialties were cock-fights and "canine sports," suddenly recognized the Doctor. With grave dignity Pop lifted his beaver, and his stern eyes gazed in disapprobation upon the party. He knew the others, as he did his own black sheep, at a glance. There were the Hulkers, the flashiest of New York youths, the objects of his especial dislike. He had known their father, a worthy man despite his swiftly acquired wealth, and the boys, too, had spent six months within the Doctor's walls before the death of that lamented financier. But a doting mother had long since withdrawn them from the tyranny and oppression to which her beloved sons were there subjected. The Doctor had his regular habits and his regular route. No boy there had ever known him to turn southward from his school door before this day, and his coming suddenly upon them was a shock so severe that it dashed for the moment even Briggs's effrontery. Hoover turned a sickly yellow, and looked as though he would have been glad to crawl under the hose carriage. Briggs "made a sneak" to get the reel between him and the Doctor's glowering eyes, but Pop halted short and stood with pointed cane, and Briggs saw it was useless and crawled out again. "Smoking!" said the rector, comprehending the sextette in general condemnation. "Idling! Wasting the substance of honest men in forbidden and stolen indulgence. Here, you, sir!" to Briggs, "get you gone out of this. Go home and study, and if you miss a line of to-morrow's lessons I'll pack you out of school." "Pack" as a verb and "copious" as an adjective were pets in the rector's school vocabulary. "The same to you, my horsey young friend, Mr. Brodrick. As for you," he continued, addressing the Hulkers and their companion, who, with hands in pockets and hats tipped