as sweet as a lamb, never quarrels, never whines, never alludes to
his lost fortune, and is never put out. For a youngster, he's the most
popular man in the street. Shall we nip round and see him?"

"By all means."

"Come. It isn't far."

A few steps down the crowded street we dived into a den of plate-glass
windows, of scraps of paper, of rattling, ticking machines, more voluble
and excited than the careworn, abstracted men who leaned over them. But
"Johnnyboy"--I started at the familiar name again--was not there. He was
at luncheon.

"Let us join him," I said, as we gained the street again and turned
mechanically into Delmonico's.

"Not there," said Bracy with a laugh. "You forget! That's not
Johnnyboy's gait just now. Come here." He was descending a few steps
that led to a humble cake-shop. As we entered I noticed a young fellow
standing before the plain wooden counter with a cake of gingerbread in
one hand and a glass of milk in the other. His profile was before me;
I at once recognized the long lashes. But the happy, boyish, careless
laugh that greeted Bracy, as he presented me, was a revelation.

Yet he was pleased to remember me. And then--it may have been
embarrassment that led me to such tactlessness, but as I glanced at him
and the glass of milk he was holding, I could not help reminding him of
the first words I had ever heard him utter.

He tossed off the glass, colored slightly, as I thought, and said with a
light laugh:--

"I suppose I have changed a good deal since then, sir."

I looked at his demure and resolute mouth, and wondered if he had.

YOUNG ROBIN GRAY.

The good American barque Skyscraper was swinging at her moorings in
the Clyde, off Bannock, ready for sea. But that good American
barque--although owned in Baltimore--had not a plank of American timber
in her hulk, nor a native American in her crew, and even her nautical
"goodness" had been called into serious question by divers of that
crew during her voyage, and answered more or less inconclusively
with belaying-pins, marlin-spikes, and ropes' ends at the hands of an
Irish-American captain and a Dutch and Danish mate. So much so, that
the mysterious powers of the American consul at St. Kentigern had been
evoked to punish mutiny on the one hand, and battery and starvation
on the other; both equally attested by manifestly false witness and
subornation on each side. In the exercise of his functions the consul
had opened and sh