“That isn't what I mean at all!” cried the boy in great distress. “I don't know how to answer you, sir--but there's a wrong in it.” “But where? How?” “Master Albert,” blurted Samuel--“it can't be right for you to get drunk!” Bertie's face clouded. “It can't be right, sir!” repeated Samuel. And suddenly the other sat forward in his chair. “All right,” he said--“Maybe it isn't. But what are you going to do about it?” There was anger in his voice, and Samuel was frightened into silence. There was a pause while they stared at each other. “I'm on top!” exclaimed Bertie. “I'm on top, and I'm going to stay on top--don't you see? The game's in my hands; and if I please to get drunk, I get drunk. And you will take your orders and mind your own business. And what have you to say to that?” “I presume, sir,” said Samuel, his voice almost a whisper, “I can leave your service.” “Yes,” said the other--“and then either you'll starve, or else you'll go to somebody else who has money, and ask him to give you a job. And then you'll take your orders from him, and keep your opinions to yourself. Don't you see?” “Yes,” said Samuel, lowering his eyes--“I see.” “All right,” said Bertie; and he rose unsteadily to his feet. “Now, if you please,” said he, “you'll go back to Belle, wherever you've left her, and take her a message for me.” “Yes, sir,” said Samuel. “Tell her I'm through with her, and I don't want to see her again. I'll have a couple of hundred dollars a month sent to her so long as she lets me alone. If she writes to me or bothers me in any way, she'll get nothing. And that's all.” “Yes, sir,” said Samuel. “And as for you, this was all right for a joke, but it wouldn't bear repeating. From now on, you're the gardener's boy, and you'll not forget your place again.” “Yes, sir,” said Samuel once more, and stood watching while his young master went into the house. Then he turned and went down the road, half dazed. Those had been sledge-hammer blows, and they had landed full and hard. They had left him without a shred of all his illusions. His work, that he had been so proud of--he hated it, and everything associated with it. And he was overwhelmed with perplexity and pain--just as before when he had found himself in jail, and it had dawned upon him that the Law, an institution which he had revered, might be no such august thing at all, but an instrument of injustice and oppression. In that mood he came to the hotel. Again there was no one in the office, so he went directly to the room and knocked. There was no answer; he knocked again, more heavily. “I wonder if she's gone,” he thought, and looked again at the number, to make sure he was at the right room. Then, timidly, he tried the door. It opened. “Lady,” he said, and then louder, “Lady.” There was no response, and he went in. Could she be asleep? he thought. No--that was not likely. He listened for her breathing. There was not a sound.