came to feeling its
full force.

CHAPTER IV.

THE HOTEL.

One of Oscar's most intimate companions was a boy of about his own age,
named Alfred Walton, who attended the same school with him. Alfred's
father was dead; but he had a step-father, whom he called father, and
with whom he lived. His home was to Oscar a very attractive one; for
it was a public house, and had large stables and a stage-office
attached, and was usually full of company. Alfred's step-father was
the landlord of the hotel, and of course he and his young friends were
privileged characters about the premises. Oscar and Alfred were
together a great deal of the time, when out of school, and quite a warm
friendship existed between them. On Wednesday and Saturday afternoons,
and during the other play hours of the week, Oscar might generally be
found about the hotel premises, or riding on the coaches with Alfred.
He only regretted that he could not stay there altogether; for he
thought it must be a fine thing to live in such a place, where he could
do pretty much as he pleased, without anybody's interference. Such, at
least, seemed to be the privilege of Alfred; for everybody, from his
step-father down to the humblest servants, appeared to have too much
other business on their hands to give much attention to his boyish
movements.

Oscar made many acquaintances at the hotel, not a few of which were
anything but desirable for a boy of his age and character. He was on
chatty terms with all the stage-drivers, hostlers, and servants about
the premises, and also got acquainted with many strangers who stopped
there for a season. He was very fond of listening to the stories of
the drivers and other frequenters of the stage-office, and he would sit
by the hour, inhaling the smoke of their cigars, admiring their long
yarns, and laughing at the jokes they cracked. Much of this
conversation was coarse and even vulgar, such as a pure mind could not
listen to without suffering contamination, or at least a blunting of
its delicate sensibilities. It is a serious misfortune for a youth to
be exposed to such influences, but Oscar did not know it, or did not
believe it.

Among the hangers about the stable, was a queer fellow who went by the
name of Andy. His real name was Anderson. He was weak-minded and
childish, his lack of intellect taking the form of silliness rather
than of stupidity. Indeed, he was bright and quick in his way, but it
was a ver