"I'm going over to see Mrs. Morgan," answered his wife.

"What for?"

"I wish to go," was replied.

"Well, I don't wish you to go," said Slade, in a very decided way.

"I can't help that, Simon. Mary, I'm told, is dying, and Joe is in
a dreadful way. I'm needed there--and so are you, as to that
matter. There was a time when, if word came to you that Morgan or
his family were in trouble--"

"Do hush, will you!" exclaimed the landlord, angrily. "I won't be
preached to in this way any longer."

"Oh, well; then don't interfere with my movements, Simon; that's
all I have to say. I'm needed over there, as I just said, and I'm
going."

There were considerable odds against him, and Slade, perceiving
this, turned off, muttering something that his wife did not hear,
and she went on her way. A hurried walk brought her to the
wretched home of the poor drunkard, whose wife met her at the
door.

"How is Mary?" was the visitor's earnest inquiry.

Mrs. Morgan tried to answer the question; but, though her lips
moved, no sounds issued therefrom.