as he tried to return the old man's withering glances.
"Now look here!" said Simon Slade, in some wrath, "there's been just about enough of this. I'm getting tired of it. Why don't you keep Ned at home? Nobody wants him here."
"Refuse to sell him liquor," returned Mr. Hargrove.
"It's my trade to sell liquor," answered Slade, boldly.
"I wish you had a more honorable calling," said Hargrove, almost mournfully.
"If you insult my father, I'll strike you down!" exclaimed Frank Slade, starting up and assuming a threatening aspect.
"I respect filial devotion, meet it where I will," calmly replied Mr. Hargrove,—"I only wish it had a better foundation in this case. I only wish the father had merited———"
I will not stain my page with the fearful oath that Frank Slade yelled, rather than ut-
