less streets; the lobby was pitch—dark; and, as the devil would have it, Morris barked his shins and sprawled all his length over the pedestal of Hercules. The pain was sharp; his temper was already thoroughly undermined; by a last misfortune his hand closed on the hammer as he fell; and, in a spasm of childish irritation, he turned and struck at the offending statue. There was a splintering crash.
'Oh Lord, what have I done next?' wailed Morris; and he groped his way to find a candle. 'Yes,' he reflected, as he stood with the light in his hand and looked upon the mutilated leg, from which about a pound of muscle was detached. 'Yes, I have destroyed a genuine antique; I may be in for thousands!' And then there sprung up in his bosom a sort of angry hope. 'Let me see,' he thought. 'Julia's got rid of; there's nothing to connect me with that beast, Forsyth; the men were all drunk, and (what's better) they've been all discharged. Oh, come, I think this is another case of moral courage! I'll deny all knowledge of the thing.'
A moment more, and he stood again before the Hercules, his lips sternly compressed, the coal-axe and the meat cleaver under his arm. The next, he
