The appearance of Slade put an end to this conversation. A second observation of his person and countenance did not remove the first unfavorable impression. His face had grown decidedly bad in expression, as well as gross and sensual. The odor of his breath, as he took a chair close to where I was sitting, was that of one who drank habitually and freely; and the red, swimming eyes evidenced, too surely, a rapid progress toward the sad condition of a confirmed inebriate. There was, too, a certain thickness of speech, that gave another corroborating sign of evil progress. "Have you seen anything of Frank this afternoon?" he inquired of Matthew, after we had passed a few words. "Nothing," was the bar-keeper's answer. "I saw him with Tom Wilkins as I came over," said one of the men who was sitting in the porch. "What was he doing with Tom Wilkins?" said Slade, in a fretted tone of voice. "He doesn't seem very choice in his company." "They were gunning." "Gunning!" "Yes. They both had fowling-pieces. I wasn't near enough to ask where they were going." This information disturbed Slade a good deal. After muttering to himself a little while, he started up and went into the house. "And I could have told him a little more, had I been so inclined," said the individual who mentioned the fact that Frank was with Tom Wilkins. "What more?" inquired Matthew. "There was a buggy in the case; and a champagne basket. What the latter contained you can easily guess." "Whose buggy?" "I don't know anything about the buggy; but if 'Lightfoot' doesn't sink in value a hundred dollars or so before sundown, call me a false prophet." "Oh, no," said Matthew, incredulously. "Frank wouldn't do an outrageous thing like that. Lightfoot won't be in a condition to drive for a month to come." "I don't care. She's out now; and the way she was putting it down when I saw her, would have made a locomotive look cloudy." "Where did he get her?" was inquired. "She's been in the six-acre field, over by Mason's Bridge, for the last week or so," Matthew answered. "Well; all I have to say," he added, "is that Frank ought to be slung up and well horse-whipped. I never saw such a young rascal. He cares for no good, and fears no evil. He's the worst boy I ever saw." "It would hardly do for you to call him a boy to his face," said one of the men, laughing. "I don't have much to say to him in any way," replied Matthew, "for I know very well that if we ever do get into a regular quarrel, there'll be a hard time of it. The same house will not hold us afterward--that's certain. So I steer clear of the young reprobate." "I wonder his father don't put him to some business," was remarked. "The idle life he now leads will be his ruin." "He was behind the bar for a year or two." "Yes; and was smart at mixing a glass--but--" "Was himself becoming too good a customer?" "Precisely. He got drunk as a fool before reaching his fifteenth year."