wear as it was him who
threw the stones, though he was among them as did."

"He's only a boy," Eloquent continued, "and he's drunk . . . it would
be a pity to make a public example of him . . . just now--don't you
think?--If you could oblige me in this . . . I'm very anxious that the
election should be fought with as little ill-feeling as possible."

Something changed hands.

"What about the other young gentlemen, sir?" asked the younger
policeman.

"With the other young gentlemen," Eloquent said ruthlessly, "you can
deal exactly as you please, but if it can be managed don't charge any
of them."

With difficulty policeman number one detached himself from Grantly's
embrace and handed him over to Eloquent.

"Good-bye, old chap," Grantly called fondly as his late prop departed,
"when I'm as heavy as you, you won't cop me so easy--eh, what?"

Eloquent took the boy firmly by the arm and led him in. His steps were
uncertain and his speech was thick, but he was quite biddable, and
brimming over with loving kindness for all the world.

Eloquent took him into the sitting-room and placed him in a large
arm-chair. Grantly pushed his hair off his forehead and gazed about
the room in rather bewildered fashion, at the round table strewn with
papers, at the tray with a glass of milk and plate of sandwiches
standing on the bare little sideboard, at his pale, fagged host, who
stood on the hearthrug looking down at him.

As he met Eloquent's stern gaze he smiled sweetly at him, and he was so
like Mary when he smiled that Eloquent turned his eyes away in very
shame. It seemed sacrilege even to think of her in connection with
anything so degraded and disgusting as Grantly's state appeared to him
at that moment. His Nonconformist conscience awoke and fairly shouted
at him that he should have interfered to prevent the just retribution
that had overtaken this miserable misguided boy . . . but he was her
brother; he was the son of that gracious lady who was set as a fixed
star in the firmament of his admirations; he could not hold back when
there was a chance of saving him from this disgrace. For to be charged
with being "drunk and disorderly" in the Police Court appeared to
Eloquent just then as the lowest depths of ignominy.

"Now what in the world," he asked presently, "am I to do with you? You
can't go home in that state."

"Bed, my dear chap, bed's what I'm for, . . . so sleepy, can hardly
hold up my head . . . any sh