blame me for what happened to-night."

"I hope he didn't get much of your money before it happened,"
murmured Prescott, as be and Drake, followed by Dave, Tom and
Dan, got clear of the crowd and down into a quieter part of the
road.

"He got less than a dollar of my wages," replied Drake. "I'm
sorry he has that much, but he'll never get any more. Say, Prescott,
but you are a fighter! I can imagine how 'sore' Miller will
be, to-morrow, over having been whipped by such a stripling as
you are."

"I've one great advantage over Miller," Dick rejoined. "I've
never tasted alcohol, and Miller has saturated himself with it
for years."

"I used to have an idea that liquor was strengthening," murmured
Tom Drake. "I know quite a good many men who take it to keep
up their strength."

"They're fools, then," Dick retorted tersely. "You could see,
in Miller to-night, what alcohol does toward making one strong.
That man is still powerful, but I'm satisfied that he was once
a great deal stronger. Miller's muscles have grown flabby since
he began to drink. His speed is less than it must have been formerly.
Even his nerve---his grit---has been impaired by the stuff he
has been drinking. Did you notice how early in the fight his
wind left him? The man has very little of his former strength,
and the blame belongs to the liquor he has used."

"Here's my gate," said Tom Drake, at last, as they halted before
the little cottage. "Come in. I've got to tell my wife about
you. I wonder where my two girls are?"

Dick and his friends tried to get out of going into the yard,
but their new friend would not have it that way, so silently they
followed Drake up the path. Then, through a front window, Tom
Drake saw his girls.

His wife sat at a table, her head resting on her arms. On the
floor sat the toddler, Mollie, still in her white dress. She
had two broken dolls, pretending to play with them, but the woebegone
look in her little face showed that her thoughts were elsewhere.

Tom Drake choked as he looked in at the window. Then, throwing
up his head resolutely, he lifted the latch, entering the room
with firm tread.

"I'm a bit late, girls, but come on up in the village!" he invited.
"Here, Hattie, you take charge of this little roll," he added,
thrusting his money into his wife's hand.

Not more than three minutes later the three Drakes issued from
the house, Mollie enjoying a "ride" on her father's shoulder.

"W