drive that poor lady out of her senses, will you?"

"No, I'll take him to The Chequers, and smuggle him in at night. They
know me there, and not a soul but the doctor and the men will be able to
tell where he is."

Boniface was not quite satisfied, but he agreed to lend me two men, and
at dusk I drove round to the back gate of The Chequers, and smuggled Bob
through the stables.

He was very well behaved when the doctor came, and even thanked him for
providing two careful attendants. The doctor's directions were very
simple. "I'll give him some strong meat essence at once; then he must
have the draught that I will send. No alcohol on any consideration, no
matter if he goes on his knees to you. Let him have milk and beef-tea as
often as you can, and never leave him for an instant."

Our landlord of The Chequers was very funny about the jim-jams, and
funnier still about my suddenly taking to swell company; but I let him
talk on, and he certainly kept unusually quiet, though no more
inveterate gossip ever lived.

At a very late hour I was strolling homeward, long after the last
reeling coster had swayed and howled towards his slum, when two women
stopped me Then a man came from the shadow of the wall, and I thought I
had fallen across some strange night-birds; but one of the women spoke,
and I knew she was a lady. "You have my boy in that horrid place. Tell
me, is he well? I must see him; I'll tear the doors down with my nails."
Then the man said, "I drove the keb, sir. I knows Mr. Robert, and I
thought I'd better tell his mother." I eagerly said, "Madam, you shall
see him, but, pray, not to-night. The shock might kill him. On my honour
he is in good hands, and I promise to come to you on the instant when it
is safe for you to meet him." The lady moaned, "Oh, my boy--my
darling--my own! Oh! the curse!"--and then she went away.

In two days Bob was quite calm and rational. He craved for food, and
seemed so well that I thought I might manage him single-handed. So the
attendants were dismissed, with the doctor's permission, and Bob and I
settled down for a quiet chat. I shall never forget that talk. The lad
was not maudlin, and he utterly refused to whimper, but he seemed
suddenly to have seen the horror of the past. "You can stop in time, old
man," he said, "but I can't. When I'm well, I'll turn to work, and I'll
try to keep other chaps from getting into the mud. It would be funny to
see me preaching to the boys up rive