r hurried away, but was back in a moment, and beckoned to Tony to
follow him, which he did in a state of flurry and anxiety that a real
peril would never have caused him.

Tony found himself standing in the Minister's presence, where he
remained for full a couple of minutes before the great man lifted his
head and ceased writing. "Sit down," was the first salutation; and as he
took a chair, he had time to remark the stern but handsome features of a
large man, somewhat past the prime of life, and showing in the lines of
his face traces of dissipation as well as of labor.

"Are you the son of Watty Butler?" asked he, as he wheeled his chair
from the table and confronted Tony.

"My father's name was Walter, sir," replied Tony, not altogether without
resenting this tone of alluding to him.

"Walter! nothing of the kind; nobody ever called him anything but Watty,
or Wat Tartar, in the regiment. Poor Watty! you are very like him,--not
so large,--not so tall." "The same height to a hair, sir."

"Don't tell me; Watty was an inch and a half over you, and much broader
in the chest. I think I ought to know; he has thrown me scores of times
wrestling, and I suspect it would puzzle _you_ to do it." Tony's face
flushed; he made no answer, but in his heart of hearts he 'd like to
have had a trial.

Perhaps the great man expected some confirmation of his opinion, or
perhaps he had his own doubts about its soundness; but, whatever
the reason, his voice was more peevish as he said: "I have read your
mother's note, but for the life of me I cannot see what it points to.
What has become of your father's fortune? He had something, surely."

"Yes, sir, he had a younger son's portion, but he risked it in a
speculation--some mines in Canada--and lost it."

"Ay, and dipped it too by extravagance! There's no need to tell me how
he lived; there wasn't so wasteful a fellow in the regiment; he 'd have
exactly what he pleased, and spend how he liked. And what has it come
to? ay, that's what I ask,--what has it come to? His wife comes here
with this petition--for it is a petition--asking--I 'll be shot if I
know what she asks."

"Then I 'll tell you," burst in Tony; "she asks the old brother-officer
of her husband--the man who in his letters called himself his
brother--to befriend his son, and there's nothing like a petition in the
whole of it."

"What! what! what! This is something I 'm not accustomed to! You want
to make friends, young m