he box, and Sinton went to do
his marketing and some shopping for his wife.

At the dry goods store Mr. Brownlee called to him, "Hello, Sinton! How
do you like the fate of your lunch box?" Then he began to laugh--

"I always hate to see a man laughing alone," said Sinton. "It looks so
selfish! Tell me the fun, and let me help you."

Mr. Brownlee wiped his eyes.

"I supposed you knew, but I see she hasn't told."

Then the three days' history of the lunch box was repeated with
particulars which included the dog.

"Now laugh!" concluded Mr. Brownlee.

"Blest if I see anything funny!" replied Wesley Sinton. "And if you
had bought that box and furnished one of those lunches yourself, you
wouldn't either. I call such a work a shame! I'll have it stopped."

"Some one must see to that, all right. They are little leeches. Their
father earns enough to support them, but they have no mother, and they
run wild. I suppose they are crazy for cooked food. But it is funny, and
when you think it over you will see it, if you don't now."

"About where would a body find that father?" inquired Wesley Sinton
grimly. Mr. Brownlee told him and he started, locating the house with
little difficulty. House was the proper word, for of home there was no
sign. Just a small empty house with three unkept little children racing
through and around it. The girl and the elder boy hung back, but dirty
little Billy greeted Sinton with: "What you want here?"

"I want to see your father," said Sinton.

"Well, he's asleep," said Billy.

"Where?" asked Sinton.

"In the house," answered Billy, "and you can't wake him."

"Well, I'll try," said Wesley.

Billy led the way. "There he is!" he said. "He is drunk again."

On a dirty mattress in a corner lay a man who appeared to be strong and
well. Billy was right. You could not awake him. He had gone the limit,
and a little beyond.

He was now facing eternity. Sinton went out and closed the door.

"Your father is sick and needs help," he said. "You stay here, and I
will send a man to see him."

"If you just let him 'lone, he'll sleep it off," volunteered Billy.
"He's that way all the time, but he wakes up and gets us something to
eat after awhile. Only waitin' twists you up inside pretty bad."

The boy wore no air of complaint. He was merely stating facts.

Wesley Sinton looked intently at Billy. "Are you twisted up inside now?"
he asked.

Billy laid a grimy hand on the region of his stomach