of absence to come after him. The fact is, I'm tired of seeing his
solemn, sanctimonious face here every night. If the boy hasn't spirit
enough to tell him to mind his own business, as I have done more than
fifty times, why, let the boy stay away himself."

"Why don't you send him off with a flea in his ear, Ned?" said one of
the company, a young man scarcely his own age. "My old man tried that
game with me, but he soon found that I could hold the winning cards."

"Just what I'm going to do the very next time he comes after me."

"Oh, yes! So you've said twenty times," remarked Frank Slade, in a
sneering, insolent manner.

Edward Hargrove had not the spirit to resent this; he only answered:

"Just let him show himself here to-night, and you will see."

"No, we won't see," sneered Frank.

"Wouldn't it be fun!" was exclaimed. "I hope to be on hand, should it
ever come off."

"He's as 'fraid as death of the old chap," laughed a sottish-looking
man, whose age ought to have inspired him with some respect for the
relation between father and son, and doubtless would, had not a long
course of drinking and familiarity with debasing associates blunted his
moral sense.

"Now for it!" I heard uttered, in a quick, delighted voice. "Now for
fun! Spunk up to him, Ned! Never say die!"

I turned toward the door, and there stood the father of Edward
Hargrove. How well I remembered the broad, fine forehead, the steady,
yet mild eyes, the firm lips, the elevated, superior bearing of the man
I had once before seen in that place, and on a like errand. His form
was slightly bent now; his hair was whiter; his eyes farther back in
his head; his face thinner and marked with deeper lines; and there was
in the whole expression of his face a touching sadness. Yet, superior
to the marks of time and suffering, an unflinching resolution was
visible in his countenance, that gave to it a dignity, and extorted
involuntary respect. He stood still, after advancing a few paces, and
then, his searching eyes having discovered his son, he said mildly, yet
firmly, and with such a strength of parental love in his voice that
resistance was scarcely possible:

"Edward! Edward! Come, my son."

"Don't go." The words were spoken in an undertone, and he who uttered
them turned his face away from Mr. Hargrove, so that the old man could
not see the motion of his lips. A little while before, he had spoken
bravely against the father of Edward; now, he could