se of a double fare, to the residence of old Brown and old
Brown's daughter. There he told the glorious news, a little broken and
halting in his speech. Patty threw her arms about him, and cried without
concealment or restraint. Old Brown blew his nose with a suspicious
frequency, and shook his adopted son-in-law by the hand at frequent
intervals.

'Phil,' he cried at last, 'where's your father? By God, sir, he never
had any need to run away from me, because he happened to lose a handful
of paltry money. What had he got to do but come and say, "Brown, it's
gone!" He hadn't trust enough in me to think I'd believe him. Let's get
at him. Where is he?'

The old boy tugged furiously at the bell-pull.

'Send Brenner round to the stable,' he said to the servant. 'Tell him
to get the horses to, and bring the carriage round at once. Where's your
father, Phil?'

'He's down Poplar way,' said Phil. 'Hornett, his old clerk, is living in
the same house with him.'

'We'll go down, and rouse him up,' the old boy said, with a moist eye
and trembling hand. 'Phil, my lad,' he went on, grasping the young
fellow's hand in his own, 'I'm getting to be an old 'un. You wouldn't
think it to look at me, because, thank God, I've always known how to
take my trouble lightly, but I've seen a lot of it in my time, and you
can take my word for this--there isn't any trouble in the world that's
hardly so bitter as for an honest man to have to take another for a
rogue.'

So it came to pass that Bommaney senior, who after all, perhaps, hardly
deserved to be made a hero of, was plenteously bedewed with the tears of
three most honourable and high-minded people, and was, set up in their
minds as a sort of live statue of undeserved martyrdom. They who learned
the tale afterwards mourned his weakness, and supposed him to be the
victim of a too sensitive organisation. He lives now with a genuine halo
of sanctity about him, and seems in the minds of some to have suffered
for the sake of a great principle, quite noble, but not quite definitely
defined.

Odd things happen every day in the world, and pass by unregarded. The
worship of Bommaney senior's sensibilities seems a trifle dull when all
things are considered, though one has to be glad that an honest son can
think of him with pity mixed with admiration. But perhaps the oddest
thing of all in connection with this story may be looked for in the
shorthand reporter's notes of the Recorder's speech at the