om a
station-house, where he had been locked up for breaking a street-lamp in
Boston. By his own showing he had not broken the lamp, or assisted,
except through his presence, at the misdeed of the tipsy students who had
done it. His breath betrayed that he had been drinking, too; but
otherwise he seemed as sober as Westover himself, who did not know
whether to augur well or ill for him from the proofs he had given before
of his ability to carry off a bottle of wine with a perfectly level head.
Jeff seemed to believe Westover a person of such influence that he could
secure his release at once, and he was abashed to find that he must pass
the night in the cell, where he conferred with Westover through the bars.

In the police court, where his companions were fined, the next morning,
he was discharged for want of evidence against him; but the university
authorities did not take the same view as the civil authorities. He was
suspended, and for the time he passed out of Westover's sight and
knowledge.

He expected to find him at Lion's Head, where he went to pass the month
of August--in painting those pictures of the mountain which had in some
sort, almost in spite of him, become his specialty. But Mrs. Durgin
employed the first free moments after their meeting in explaining that
Jeff had got a chance to work his way to London on a cattle-steamer, and
had been abroad the whole summer. He had written home that the voyage had
been glorious, with plenty to eat and little to do; and he had made favor
with the captain for his return by the same vessel in September. By other
letters it seemed that he had spent the time mostly in England; but he
had crossed over into France for a fortnight, and had spent a week in
Paris. His mother read some passages from his letters aloud to show
Westover how Jeff was keeping his eyes open. His accounts of his travel
were a mixture of crude sensations in the presence of famous scenes and
objects of interest, hard-headed observation of the facts of life,
narrow-minded misconception of conditions, and wholly intelligent and
adequate study of the art of inn-keeping in city and country.

Mrs. Durgin seemed to feel that there was some excuse due for the
relative quantity of the last. "He knows that's what I'd care for the
most; and Jeff a'n't one to forget his mother." As if the word reminded
her, she added, after a moment: "We sha'n't any of us soon forget what
you done for Jeff--that time."

"I d