Haldane drew an envelope from his breast-pocket, and laid it on the table, saying with a reckless laugh:

"Well, well, as you say, there is no great harm in borrowing a little of this money, and returning it again before the evening is over. The only question is how to open this package, for if torn it may require explanations that I do not care to make."

"We can easily manage that," laughed Ketchem; "put the package in your pocket a few moments," and he rang the bell.

To the boy who appeared he said, "Bring us three hot whiskey punches—hot, remember; steaming hot."

He soon reappeared with the punch, and the door was locked again.

"Hold your package over the steam of your punch, and the gum will dissolve so that you can open and close it in a way that will defy detection."

The suggestion was speedily carried out.

"Now," continued Mr. Ketchem, "the punch having already served so excellent a turn, we will finish it by drinking to your good luck."

Haldane won the first two games. This success, together with the liquor, which was strong, almost wholly dethroned his reason, and in his mad, drunken excitement he began to stake large sums. The eyes of his companions grew more wolfish than ever, and, after a significant flash toward each other, the gamblers turned fortune against their victim finally. The brandy was now placed within his reach, and under its influence Haldane threw down money at random. The first package was soon emptied. He snatched the other from his pocket and tore it open, but before its contents had likewise disappeared his head drooped upon his breast, and he became insensible.

They watched him a moment, smiled grimly at each other, drew a long breath of relief, and, rising, stretched themselves like men who had been under a strain that had taxed them severely.

"Half an hour yet," said Mr. Van Wink; "wish the time was up."

"This is a heavy swag if we get off safely with it. I say, Haldane, wake up."

But Haldane was sunk in the deepest stupor.

"I guess it's safe enough," said Van Wink, answering Ketchem's questioning eyes.

The latter thereupon completely emptied the remaining package of money, and replaced the two empty envelopes in Haldane's breast-pocket, and buttoned up his coat.

With mutual glances of exultation at the largeness of the sum, they swiftly divided the spoil between them. It was agreed that after leaving the hotel they should separate, that one should go to Boston, the other to Baltimore, and that they should return to their old haunts in New York after the interest caused by the affair had died out. Then, lighting cigars, they coolly sat down to wait for the train, having first opened a window and placed Haldane where the fresh air would blow upon him.

When the time of departure approached, Mr. Van Wink went to the bar and paid both their own and Haldane's bill, saying that they would now vacate the room. On his return Ketchem had so far aroused Haldane that he was able to leave the house with their assistance, and yet so intoxicated as to be incapable of thinking and acting for himself. They took him down a side street, now utterly deserted, and left him on the steps of a low groggery, from whence still issued the voices of some late revellers. Five minutes later the "owl train" bore from the town Messrs. Van Wink and Ketchem, who might be called with a certain aptness birds of the night and of prey.

Haldane remained upon the saloon steps, where he had been left, blinking stupidly at a distant street lamp. He had a vague impression that something was wrong—that a misfortune of some kind had befallen him, but all was confused and blurred. He would have soon gone to sleep again had not the door opened, and a man emerged, who exclaimed:

"Faix, an who have we here, noddin' to himself as if he knew more'n other folk? Are ye waitin' for some un to ax ye within for a comfortin' dhrop?"

"Take me 'ome," mumbled Haldane.

"Where's yer home?"

"Mrs. Haldane's," answered the youth, thinking himself in his native town.

"By me sowl, if it isn't Boss Arnot's new clerk. Sure's me name is Pat
M'Cabe 'tis Misther Haldane. I say, are ye sick?"

"Take me 'ome."

"Faix, I see," winking at two or three of his cronies who had gathered at the open door; "it's a disase I'm taken wid meself at odd spells, though I takes moighty good care to kape out o' the way of ould man Arnot when I'm so afflicted. He has a quare way o' thinkin' that ivery man about him can go as rigaler as if made in a mash-shine shop, bad luck till 'im."

Perhaps all in Mr. Arnot's employ would have echoed this sentiment, could the ill luck have blighted him without reaching them. In working his employes as he did his machinery, Mr. Arnot forgot that the latter was often oiled, but that he entirely neglected to lubricate the wills of the former with occasional expressions of kindness and interest in their welfare. Thus it came to pass that even down to poor Pat M'Cabe, man of all work around the office building, all felt that their employer was a hard, driving taskmaster, who ever looked beyond them and their interests to what they accomplished for him. The spirit of the master infused itself among the men, and the tendency of each one to look out for himself without regard to others was increased. If Pat had served a kinder and more considerate man, he might have been inclined to show greater consideration for the intoxicated youth; but Pat's favorite phrase, "Divil take the hindmost," was but a fair expression of the spirit which animated his master, and the majority in his employ. When, therefore, Haldane, in his thick, imperfect utterance, again said, "Take me 'ome," Pat concluded that it would be the best and safest course for himself. Helping the young man to his feet he said:

"Can ye walk? Mighty onstiddy on yer pins; but I'm athinkin' I can get ye to the big house afore mornin'. Should I kape ye out o' the way till ye get sober, and ould man Arnot find it out, I'd be in the street meself widout a job 'fore he ate his dinner. Stiddy now; lean aginst me, and don't wabble yer legs so."

With like exhortations the elder and more wary disciple of Bacchus disappeared with his charge in the gloom of the night.

It chanced that the light burned late, on this evening, in Mrs. Arnot's parlor. The lady's indisposition had confined her to her room and couch during the greater part of the day; but as the sun declined, the distress in her head had gradually ceased, and she had found her airy drawing-room a welcome change from the apartment heavy with the odor of anaesthetics. Two students from the university had aided in beguiling the early part of the evening, and then Laura had commenced reading aloud an interesting tale, which had suspended the consciousness of time. But as the marble clock on the mantel chimed out the hour of twelve, Mrs. Arnot rose hastily from the sofa, exclaiming:

"What am I thinking of, to keep you up so late! If your mother knew that you were out of your bed she would hesitate to trust you with me again."

"One more chapter, dear auntie, please?"

"Yes, dear, several more—to-morrow; but to bed now, instanter. Come, kiss your remorseful aunt good-night. I'll remain here a while longer, for either your foolish story or the after effects of my wretched headache make me a trifle morbid and wakeful to-night. Oh, how that bell startles me! what can it mean so late?"

The loud ring at the door remained unanswered a few moments, for the servants had all retired. But the applicant without did not wait long before repeating the summons still more emphatically.

Then they heard the library door open, and Mr. Arnot's heavy step in the hall, as he went himself to learn the nature of the untimely call. His wife's nervous timidity vanished at once, and she stepped forward to join her husband, while Laura stood looking out from the parlor entrance with a pale and frightened face. "Can it be bad news from home?" she thought.

"Who is there?" demanded Mr. Arnot, sternly.

"Me and Misther Haldane," answered a voice without in broadest brogue.

"Mr. Haldane!" exclaimed Mr. Arnot excitedly; "what can this mean? Who is me?" he next asked loudly.

"Me is Pat M'Cabe, sure; the same as tidies up the office and does yer irrinds. Mr. Haldane's had a bad turn, and I've brought him home."

As Mr. Arnot swung open the door, a man, who seemingly had been leaning against it, fell prone within the hall. Laura gave a slight scream, and Mrs. Arnot was much alarmed, thinking that Haldane was suffering from some sudden and alarming attack. Thoughts of at once telegraphing to his mother were entering her mind, when the object of her solicitude tried to rise, and mumbled in the thick utterance of intoxication:

"This isn't home. Take me to mother's."

Mrs. Arnot's eyes turned questioningly to her husband, and she saw that his face was dark with anger and disgust.

"He is drunk," he said, turning to Pat, who stood in the door, cap in hand.

"Faix, sur, it looks moighty loike it. But it's not for a dacent sober man loike meself to spake sartainly o' sich matters."

"Few words and to the point, sir," said Mr. Arnot harshly; "your breath tells where you have been. But where did you find this—and how came you to find him?"

Either Mr. Arnot was at a loss for a term which would express his estimation of the young man, who had slowly and unsteadily risen, and was supporting himself by holding fast the hatrack, or he was restrained in his utterance by the presence of his wife.

"Well, sur," said Pat, with as ingenuous and candid an air as if he were telling the truth, "the wife o' a neighbor o' mine was taken on a suddint, and I went for the docther, and as I was a comin' home, who shud I see sittin' on a doorsthep but Misther Haldane, and I thought it me duty to bring him home to yees."

"You have done right. Was it on the doorstep of a drinking-place you found him?"

"I'm athinkin' it was, sur; it had that sort o' look."

Mr. Arnot turned to his wife and said coldly, "You now see how it works. But this is not a fit object for you and Laura to look upon; so please retire. I will see that he gets safely to his room. I suppose he must go there, though the station-house is the more proper place for him."

"He certainly must go to his own room," said Mrs. Arnot, firmly but quietly.

"Well, then, steady him along up the stairs, Pat. I will show you where to put the—" and Mr. Arnot again seemed to hesitate for a term, but the blank was more expressive of his contempt than any epithet could be, since his tone and manner suggested the worst.

Returning to the parlor, Mrs. Arnot found Laura's face expressive of the deepest alarm and distress.

"O auntie, what does all this mean? Am I in any way to blame? He said he would go to ruin if I didn't—but how could I?"

"No, my dear, you are not in the slightest degree to blame. Mr. Haldane seems both bad and foolish. I feel to-night that he is not worthy to speak to you; much less is he fit to be intrusted with that which you will eventually give, I hope, only to one who is pre-eminently noble and good. Come with me to your room, my child. I am very sorry I permitted you to stay up to-night."

But Laura was sleepless and deeply troubled; she had never seen a laborer—much less one of her own acquaintances—in Haldane's condition before; and to her young, innocent mind the event had almost the character of a tragedy. Although conscious of entire blamelessness, she supposed that she was more directly the cause of Haldane's behavior than was true, and that he was carrying out his threat to destroy himself by reckless dissipation. She did not know that he had been beguiled into his miserable condition through bad habits of long standing, and that he had fallen into the clutches of those who always infest public haunts, and live by preying upon the fast, foolish, and unwary. Haldane, from his character and associations, was liable to such an experience whenever circumstances combined to make it possible. Young men with no more principle than he possessed are never safe from disaster, and they who trust them trust rather to the chances of their not meeting the peculiar temptations and tests to which they would prove unequal. Laura could not then know how little she had to do with the tremendous downfall of her premature lover. The same conditions given, he would probably have met with the same experience upon any occasion. After his first glass of punch the small degree of discretion that he had learned thus far in life began to desert him; and every man as he becomes intoxicated is first a fool, and then the victim of every one who chooses to take advantage of his voluntary helplessness and degradation.

But innocent Laura saw a romantic and tragic element in the painful event, and she fell asleep with some vague womanly thoughts about saving a fellow-creature by the sacrifice of herself. However, the morning light, the truth concerning Haldane, and her own good sense, would banish such morbid fancies. Indeed the worst possible way in which a young woman can set about reforming a bad man is to marry him. The usual result is greatly increased guilt on the part of the husband, and lifelong, hopeless wretchedness for the wife.