The young man shrugged his shoulders, without looking at Cripps, and made no reply. But the little man, whose thirst was rapidly getting the better of every other consideration, promptly seized him by the arm, and began to lead him across the road in a desperate hurry. “You shall taste it, my young friend,” he cried, in an ecstasy of good-fellowship. “Not—mind you—not that I would have any young man follow in my footsteps—for I, my young friend, am a wreck. But a little stimulant—especially at this hour of the day—(indeed, I might say, at any hour of the day)—is very necessary; it gives tone to the constitution.” It appeared to have given something besides tone to the Doctor’s constitution; but he did not say so. He walked with his new friend into the little Railway Inn, and ordered refreshments for both; discovering, to his dismay, when asked for the price of them, that he had no money. He had performed the same excellent trick so often, that he was an adept at it; and tears of indignation actually sprang to his eyes, as he solemnly cursed the unknown man who must have stolen his purse—“containing gold, sir—gold—and my dear and sainted mother’s portrait—a miniature, sir, from which I would not have parted, except at the sacrifice of my last drop of blood. The gold, sir, was nothing—but the miniature——” Here the old sinner hid his face in the folds of a very doubtful-looking handkerchief, and appeared to weep. The young man, whatever his suspicions may have been, was a good-natured fellow, and he paid the reckoning. Immediately, the little man became all smiles again, and raising his glass, insisted on drinking the young man’s health. “If, my dear young friend, I could have the privilege of knowing to whom I am indebted—I should be glad; if I could pledge you by name——” “My name’s Routley—Harry Routley,” replied the lad. “Your health, sir.” “And yours, Mr. Routley,” responded Cripps. “Whatever station of life may be yours, sir, I am convinced that it is a station you adorn. Bamberton should be proud of you, Mr. Routley.” Harry shrugged his shoulders, and laughed a little bitterly. “At the present time,” he said—“neither Bamberton nor any other place is particularly proud of me, I think. And I have no distinct position in life.” “That’s a pity—a great pity,” said Cripps gravely, shaking his head. “If a man has no position, the devil is likely to find him one. My young friend—I am sorry for you.” “You needn’t be,” replied Harry, savagely. “It’s my own fault—and my own business, if it comes to that. I deserve everything I get. I sold the best man and the best master ever a lad had—and I don’t care what becomes of me.” “Sold a man!” exclaimed Cripps. “I don’t understand you.” “Don’t suppose you do,” replied Harry, recklessly. “Maybe, not belonging to these parts, you haven’t heard of Mr. Dandy Chater—eh?”