in debt to Judge Lyman—on what account, it was not hard to infer.
It was after nine o'clock, and there were not half a dozen persons in the room, when I noticed Frank Slade go behind the bar for the third or fourth time. He \was just lifting a decanter of brandy, when his father, who was considerably under the influence of drink, started forward, and laid his hand upon that of his son. Instantly a fierce light gleamed from the eyes of the young man.
"Let go of my hand!" he exclaimed.
"No, I won't. Put up that brandy bottle—you're drunk now."
"Don't meddle with me, old man!" angrily retorted Frank. "I'm not in the mood to bear any thing more from you."
"You're drunk as a fool now," returned Slade, who had seized the decanter. "Let go the bottle."
For only an instant did the young man hesitate. Then he drove his half-clenched hand
