poisoned like a beastly sewer-rat. It preyed on poor Grandfather's nerves so that he lost his sleep and his appetite—until, one dark and stormy night, he crept forth to do the awful deed of blood. He took his old army-revolver, loaded it in all six chambers, and, with tearful eyes and shaking hand, crept on tip-toe toward the stables where was the kennel of his faithful old friend. . . ."
"Why did he crep' on tip-toe?" inquired the Vice.
"So that he should not wake William Henry Winterbotham if he were asleep," was the reply. "He felt, in the first place, that if the noble hound came out, wagging its tail with pleasure, to lick the hand of its beloved master—that hand would fall in palsied impotence before it could do the awful deed. In the second place—if W. H. W. were asleep, how much better that he should never wake again. How much better that he should pass painlessly away as the merciful bullet crashed into his unconscious brain.
"Nearer and nearer crept Grandfather, and still no sound broke upon the stilly watches of the night. . . ."
