do any good at all
to-morrow, they'd better be getting to bed; they consequently took
one tumbler more, because it was to be the last, and made towards the
door, out of which Stark had at length escaped, after having a bottle
of whiskey poured over his head. As they passed the Captain, who was
snoring against the wall, McKeon slightly touched his foot with his
toe, and said to Blake, "Well; if I was as soft as that fellow, I'd
have my head boiled in a pudding-bag. By gad, the Colonel oughtn't to
let him out without his nurse."

"You oughtn't to talk then, Tony, for you didn't make a bad thing of
him to-night."

"Oh, d----n his money," said McKeon; "I'd much sooner be without such
a fellow. I'd sooner by half have a bargain with a man that knew how
to take care of himself, than a greenhorn, who'd let you rob him of
his eyes without seeing you."

By this time they'd got to the front door, at which was now standing
Tony's buggy and servant; Greenough was going to walk to his
lodgings, and Blake had come to the door to see his friend off;
when they heard a loud shrieking down the street, and they saw the
unfortunate Stark running towards the hotel, still followed by
Fitzpatrick and Dillon, each with an empty bottle in his hand.

When he had escaped from the inn, his persecutors had followed him,
still swearing that he should sing. Stark had run towards his home,
but before he got there his pursuers headed him in the street and
turned him back, and now as he rushed along, half blinded by the
spirits in his eyes, they followed him, whooping and yelling like two
insane devils, and were just catching him near the door of the hotel,
when poor Stark, striking his foot against the curb stone, fell
violently on his face, and Dillon, who was just behind him, stumbled
and fell upon him.

"Halloo, Fitzpatrick, is that you?" said Tony, "what in G----d's name
are you doing with that poor devil? I believe you and Dillon have
killed him."

By this time Dillon had got up; and McKeon and Blake together helped
the other man to his feet; his wrath was by this time thoroughly
kindled, and he was swearing all manner of vengeance against
Fitzpatrick--the other man's name he did not know. They, contented
with their sport, carried the decanters, wonderful to relate,
unbroken in triumph into the hotel,--and McKeon, bidding the boy to
bring the gig after him, helped Stark, whose face was dreadfully
bleeding, to his home, trying to console h