may have his suspicions."

"Well, sir," said Dobbs, with a sigh of relief, "he's in my lodgings."

Having ascertained the address of the lodgings, the poor father called a
cab and soon stood by the side of a bed on which his son Sammy lay
sprawling in the helpless attitude in which he had fallen down the night
before, after a season of drunken riot. He was in a heavy sleep, with
his still innocent-looking features tinged with the first blight of
dissipation.

"Sammy," said the father, in a husky voice, as he shook him gently by
the arm; but the poor boy made no answer--even a roughish shake failed
to draw from him more than the grumbled desire, "let me alone."

"Oh! God spare and save him!" murmured the father, in a still husky
voice, as he fell on his knees by the bedside and prayed--prayed as
though his heart were breaking, while the object of his prayer lay
apparently unconscious through it all.

He rose, and was standing by the bedside, uncertain how to act, when a
heavy tread was heard on the landing, the door was thrown open, and the
landlady, announcing "a gentleman, sir," ushered in the superintendent
of police, who looked at Mr Twitter with a slight expression of
surprise.

"You are here before me, I see, sir," he said.

"Yes, but how did you come to find out that he was here?"

"Well, I had not much difficulty. You see it is part of our duty to
keep our eyes open," replied the superintendent, with a peculiar smile,
"and I have on several occasions observed your son entering this house
with a companion in a condition which did not quite harmonise with his
blue ribbon, so, after your good lady explained the matter to me this
morning I came straight here."

"Thank you--thank you. It is _very_ kind. I--you--it could not have
been better managed."

Mr Twitter stopped and looked helplessly at the figure on the bed.

"Perhaps," said the superintendent, with much delicacy of feeling, "you
would prefer to be alone with your boy when he awakes. If I can be of
any further use to you, you know where to find me. Good-day, sir."

Without waiting for a reply the considerate superintendent left the
room.

"Oh! Sammy, Sammy, speak to me, my dear boy--speak to your old father!"
he cried, turning again to the bed and kneeling beside it; but the
drunken sleeper did not move.

Rising hastily he went to the door and called the landlady.

"I'll go home, missis," he said, "and send the poor lad's mother to