park in mad fashion while a hoarse
gale roused a deep chorus among the trees. I could have sworn that my
lad called to me. Then I went back and dropped into The Chequers. The
Ramper said, "Wot cher, yer old bugaboo?" The Wanderer shouted, "Now
let the trumpet to the kettle speak; the kettle to the cannoneer
without. He comes! He comes!"

And I went home and stayed till dawn with the Wanderer. That is the way
we live.

THE WANDERER AGAIN.

Several racing men have warned me against the Wanderer, in their
peculiarly friendly way. They want me to bet with _them_. But I like the
Bohemian, the blackleg, better than I do better men. Moreover, though I
am carefully informed that he is a blackleg, I find him honest. His
story has long been hanging in my mind, and we may as well take it at
once.

Devine's runaway match turned out well for a time. When old Mr. Billiter
came home and heard what had happened he fell in a fit, and, on his
recovery, he went about for a long time moaning, "We'll never hold up
our heads no more." His friends thought he would lose his reason, for he
would stop people in the street, and say, "Have you a daughter? Kill
her, if you care for her. Mine's gone off with a hactor." But the young
couple were happy enough in reality, and Devine took the fancy of the
New Yorkers to such a degree that his engagement was extended over three
years. Letty Devine led a gay, careless life; her husband had plenty of
money, and she was introduced to pleasures that made the frowsy life of
home seem very repulsive. Devine was kind to her, and continued to play
the lover in his pompous style. She was proud of her man, too. He played
Claude Melnotte for his benefit once, and she longed to say to the
ladies in the theatre, "He belongs to me. How could she help being
fascinated with him? Where could you find such another princely being?"
She felt a lump in her throat when the great house rose at her William,
and the more so since she knew that her praise was more to him than all
the clamour of the theatre. Devine had begun by fortune-hunting, and
ended by loving his wife, though she did not bring him a penny.

Those were merry days in New York. Champagne was plentiful as water, and
William Devine often came home in a very lively condition, but his wife
did not mind, for she thought that a man must have his glass. Women of
the lower and middle classes have a great deal to do with supplying
customers to the public-h