them strangely with his orders, and his calling of the
drinks, as he passes them across the rail.

"Here's your beer, Lupin; Jack, half a dozen brandies for Mr. Burrill's
party; Little, you are out on the brown horse--rum and water? Yes, sir,
yes."

"Burrill's beastly high to-night," said a factory hand, setting down his
beer glass and wiping his mouth; "and the boys freeze to him since he
handles old Lamotte's rocks."

"Of course, of course. Burrill don't forget old friends; Jack, bring the
rum flask; they've been here a plum hour, them chaps, sir; 'ere's your
punch, mister, and they keep the stuff runnin' down their throats, now
I can tell you. Burrill foots the bill, of course; and they can do
anything with that big chap when the wines get the upper hands of him.
I'll be sworn, they're up to mischief to-night, for I see Rooney and Bob
Giles, they delight in getting Burrill into scrapes, are drinking light,
and plying him heavy," and "Forty" turned about to draw a glass of beer
for a low-browed, roughly-dressed man who had just entered, and who was
in fact, none other than the tramp who had feasted by the roadside, on
the day before, and whom Mr. Belknap had called Roake.

Roake drank his beer, and lounged over the bar for a short time, then
called for a second glass, and after drinking it, went quietly out.

At the lower end of the long saloon, several tables are scattered, and
gathered about one of these we see the party spoken of as "Mr.
Burrill's."

Five men are grouped about the small table, and among these, John
Burrill is conspicuous for being much better dressed, much louder in his
laughter, and viler in his jests, and much drunker than are the other
four.

Since his change of fortunes, these men have made capital of his
weakness, and his purse has supplied their thirst, in return for which
he has been fawned upon, and flattered, during the earlier stages of his
intoxication, and made a tool and a jest later.

"I mus' go home," articulated Burrill, drawing forth and consulting a
showy gold repeater. "Folks's sick er home; mus' be good; take er
nother drink, boys?"

"Folks sick, eh?" queried Rooney, winking behind his hand at the others,
"wife, I 'spose?"

"Yes, wife I 'spose; wife 'n' brother-in-law, both sick; take er
nother--"

"All right, old pard; but don't let a little sickness call you off so
early; just let Heath take care of them; you're fond of Heath, too."

"Curse Heath!" roared out