h longer in the choir."

By this time they had reached the Palace Arms again, and Christopher
once more turned in at the door.

"What's he doing that for?" thought Walter, "when he said he hadn't a
farthing left. _I_ shan't go in--I've had enough of it."

So he stayed in the street. He could hear voices--and very angry
ones--within. They rose louder and louder, and then there seemed a
sort of struggle.

Walter's anxiety to know what was going on had just conquered his
reluctance to be mixed up in anything like a drunken row, when the
door was hastily opened, and several men, among them the landlord of
the tavern, appeared, all pushing and shoving at Chris in order to
turn him out. They succeeded at last, and a very disgusting spectacle
he presented as he half stood, half lounged against a lamp-post. His
hat was gone--some one threw it out to him a minute later--his coat
was torn, his collar and tie were all crooked, his eyes were
bloodshot, and his expression was a mixture of fury and helplessness.

More than ever did Walter wish he was not obliged to claim
companionship with this degraded, low-looking man.

As he stood watching the impotent rage with which Chris kicked the
lamp-post, as though he thought it was one of the enemies he wished to
punish, a policeman came suddenly round the corner. Chris made a sort
of rush at him with an angry yell.

"Hullo! Drunk and disorderly, are you? Come along o' me," said the
constable coolly, quietly slipping a pair of handcuffs over Chris's
wrists. The latter, with renewed passion, struggled vehemently, but
the policeman took no notice; he merely led Chris along, without
uttering a word. It was not far to the police-station. When they had
got there, Chris's captor suddenly observed Walter, who had followed
at a little distance.

"What do _you_ want?" he asked. "A night in the lock-up?"

He spoke in jest, and was very much astonished when Walter answered,--

"Yes, please."

"What? In here?" said the policeman in amazement, looking at the
respectable, quiet lad. "Why, man, it's a sort of a jail."

"I don't _want_ to go there, of course," replied Walter; "but me and
him"--pointing to Chris--"has got lost, and if he's going there, why,
I s'pose I must too."

"Is this your pal, then? You don't know how to choose your mates, I
should say," observed the policeman. "'Tis too late for you to see a
magistrate, or you could speak to Colonel Law. Where d'ye come from?"

Walt