otley and disreputable crew.

Hooper nodded in reply, and said good evening to Mrs Butler, who
attended to the customers at another part of the counter.

"Good evenin', sir. W'at'll you 'ave to-night, sir?"

"Pot o' the same, Mrs B," replied Ned.

This was the invariable question and reply, for Ned was a man of
regularity and method in everything that affected his personal comforts.
Had he brought one-tenth of this regularity and method to bear on his
business conduct, he would have been a better and a happier man.

The foaming pot was handed, and Ned conversed with Mrs Butler while he
enjoyed it, and commenced his evening, which usually ended in
semi-intoxication.

Meanwhile, Edward Hooper's "chum" and fellow-lodger sat in their mutual
chamber awaiting him.

John Barret did not drink, but he smoked; and, while waiting for his
companion, he solaced himself with a pipe. He was a fine manly fellow,
very different from Ned; who, although strong of limb and manly enough,
was slovenly in gait and dress, and bore unmistakable marks of
dissipation about him.

"Very odd; he's later than usual," muttered Barret, as he glanced out at
the window, and then at the tea-table, which, with the tea-service, and,
indeed everything in the room, proved that the young men were by no
means wealthy.

"He'll be taking an extra pot at the `Angel,'" muttered John Barret,
proceeding to re-light his pipe, while he shook his head gravely; "but
he'll be here soon."

A foot on the stair caused Barret to believe that he was a true prophet;
but the rapidity and firmness of the step quickly disabused him of that
idea.

The door was flung open with a crash, and a hearty youth with glowing
eyes strode in.

"Fred Auberly!" exclaimed Barret in surprise.

"Won't you welcome me?" demanded Fred.

"Welcome you? Of course I will, most heartily, old boy!" cried Barret,
seizing his friend's hand and wringing it; "but if you burst in on a
fellow unexpectedly in this fashion, and with such wild looks, why--"

"Well, well, don't explain, man; I hate explanations. I have come here
for sympathy," said Fred Auberly, shutting the door and sitting down by
the fire.

"Sympathy, Fred?"

"Ay, sympathy. When a man is in distress he naturally craves for
sympathy, and he turns, also naturally, to those who can and will give
it--not to _everybody_, John Barret--only to those who can feel _with_
him as well as _for_ him. I am in distress, John, and ev