a year, and
pay his debts when he accepts a call in another quarter."

"A comfortable situation, I must confess," said Arthur, with a smile.
"When you take a stand in the pulpit count upon me for one of your
hearers."

"A thousand thanks for your promised patronage," returned Mr. Clinton,
with a bow of mock gravity; "but suppose we discuss the matter moving;"
and rising, he led the way into the street.

As much as Guly wished to be rid of Mr. Clinton's society, he saw the
thing was impossible, at least at present, and submitted to a farther
endurance of it with as much suavity as possible. Still keeping by his
brother's side, he walked on in silence, anxiously awaiting the moment
when their companion should see fit to leave them.

"Hallo!" cried Clinton, suddenly stopping before an illuminated window,
and peering earnestly into it, "the new numbers for the next lottery are
up; come on, let's go in, and take one jointly."

Arthur thought of his lost portemonnaie, and felt strongly tempted to
run the risk of recovering his money in that way; but he remembered that
he had nothing wherewith to buy a ticket, and hesitated.

"Don't," said Guly, earnestly, "don't be led into such folly, Arthur.
Come, let's go back to the store."

"Not till you have tried your luck once," said Clinton, persuasively;
"come, it is but a trifle if you lose it, and think of the chance you
run."

"I've left my purse at home," said Arthur, blushing at the falsehood he
stooped to utter; "I would really like to join, but can't to-night,
really."

"Pooh! if the money is all, I'll advance that; and you can pay me when
you like. Come along."

Arthur entered the shop reluctantly, it is true, yet ashamed to confess
to his social, open-hearted companion, the compunction he felt. The
ticket was purchased, and half given to Arthur.

"If you are determined to purchase a ticket, Arthur," said Guly,
gravely, "I must insist that you do not run in debt to Mr. Clinton for
it," and opening his purse, he handed to that gentleman the sum just
expended for his brother's half of the ticket.

"You are very particular," remarked Clinton, with something like a
sneer, and pocketing the change, while he glanced with a look of
impertinent curiosity at Guly's grave but beautiful features.

"Do you go our way?" inquired Arthur, turning toward him as they left
the shop.

"No; sorry to say I don't," returned Clinton, lighting a cigar, and
offering one to each of