Part 9 (1/2)

My finer sensibilities rose and protested withinfor food, there was nothing left for h elelass-ornalass of ale, at least, could be purchased

I looked about me and pushed into what seeh the haze of foul air and tobacco smoke to the counter, and stood idly by until the bar-tender should find it convenient to wait uponmen and the human sedi cities; it resounded with a babel of coarse, discordant voices

The greater part of this coterie was gathered round a huge individual, with enorressive; a nose with a broken bridge spoiled the balance of his podgy face He had beady eyes and a big, ugly ular teeth Froh had an echo of hell in it

He and his followers appeared to be enjoying soood joke But whenever he spoke every one else beca and uproariously He had a hold on his fellows Even I was fascinated; but it was by the great similarity of some of the mannerisms of this uncouth man to those I had observed in the lower brute creation

My attention ithdrawn fro of tin cans in another corner which was partly partitioned from the main bar-room I followed the new sound

A tattered individual was seated there, his feet aether His head was in his hands and his red-bearded face was a study of dejection and ely familiar in the appearance of the hed

I went over and sat down opposite hi That same old trick of his!

”Donald,--Donald Robertson!” I exclaiain

Still he did not look across

Suddenly he spoke, and in a voice that knew neither hope nor gladness

”Ye laugh,--ye name me by my Christian name,--but ye don't say, 'Donald, will ye taste?'”

I leaned over and pulled his hands away frolared at me His eyes opened wide

”It's,--it's you,--is it? The second son come to me in my hour o'

trial”

”Why! Donald,--what's the trouble?” I asked

”Trouble,--ye ied me on the roadside this , unlucky hours I saved that six-pence against my time o' need I tied it in the tail o' lass o' whisky and a tumbler o' beer

I sat doon here for a while wi' thein' in the heavenly joy o' anteecipation Then I drank the speerits and was just settlin' doon to the beer,--tryin' toas I could; for, ye ken, it's comfortable in here,--when an emissary o' the deevil, wi' hands like shovels and a leer in his e'e, came in and picked up the tumbler frae under my very nose and sed the balance o' your six-pence before I could say squeak”

I laughed at Donald's rueful countenance and his more than rueful tale

”Did the man have a broken nose and a heavy jaw?” I asked

”Ay, ay!” said Donald, lowering his voice ”Do ye happen to ken him?”