talling a set who knew, from the beginning, the kind of man they
had to deal with, and conducted themselves accordingly.

While enjoying his first cigar after dinner, a note was handed to him,
which he opened and read. It was dated at the house across the avenue.
He had expected and dreaded it, but he did not shrink like a coward from
its persual. It read thus:

"MR. ROBERT BELCHER: I have been informed of the shameful manner in
which you treated a member of my family this morning--Master Harry
Benedict. The bullying of a small boy is not accounted a dignified
business for a man in the city which I learn you have chosen for your
home, however it may be regarded in the little town from which you came.
I do not propose to tolerate such conduct toward any dependent of mine.
I do not ask for your apology, for the explanation was in my hands
before the outrage was committed. I perfectly understand your relations
to the lad, and trust that the time will come when the law will define
them, so that the public will also understand them. Meantime, you will
consult your own safety by letting him alone, and never presuming to
repeat the scene of this morning.

"Yours, JAMES BALFOUR,

"Counselor-at-Law."

"Hum! ha!" exclaimed Mr. Belcher, compressing his lips, and spitefully
tearing the letter into small strips and throwing them into the fire.
"Thank you, kind sir; I owe you one," said he, rising, and walking his
room. "_That_ doesn't look very much as if Paul Benedict were alive.
He's a counselor-at-law, he is; and he has inveigled a boy into his
keeping, who, he supposes, has a claim on me; and he proposes to make
some money out of it. Sharp game!"

Mr. Belcher was interrupted in his reflections and his soliloquy by the
entrance of a servant, with the information that there was a man at the
door who wished to see him.

"Show him up."

The servant hesitated, and finally said: "He doesn't smell very well,
sir."

"What does he smell of?" inquired Mr. Belcher, laughing.

"Rum, sir, and several things."

"Send him away, then."

"I tried to, sir, but he says he knows you, and wants to see you on
particular business."

"Take him into the basement, and tell him I'll be down soon."

Mr. Belcher exhausted his cigar, tossed the stump into the fire, and,
muttering to himself, "Who the devil!" went down to meet his caller.

As he entered a sort of lobby in the basement that was used as a
servants' parlor, his visitor rose,