The Great Quest. Charles Boardman Hawes

always dragging Cornelius Gleazen between us, and so up to the open door of the tavern.

      "Now," murmured Uncle Seth, "heaven send us help! Neil, Neil—Neil, I say!"

      "Well?"

      "We must get your chests and run. Your money, your papers—are they packed?"

      "Money? What money?"

      "Your fortune! You can never come back here. Sober up, Neil, sober up! You killed Jed Matthews."

      "Served him right. Despicable cur, villain, scoundrel! I'll show them."

      "Neil, Neil Gleazen!" cried my uncle, now all but frantic.

      "Well, I hear you."

      "Oh, oh, will he not listen to reason? Take his arm again, Joe."

      We lifted him up the steps and led him into the inn, and there in the door of the bar-room came face to face with the landlord, who was hot with anger.

      "Don't bring him in here, Mr. Upham," he cried; "I keep no house for sots and swine."

      "What!" gasped my uncle, "you'll not receive him?"

      "Not I!"

      "But what's come over you? But you never would treat Mr. Gleazen like this!"

      "But, but, but!" the landlord snarled. "This very night he threw my good claret in my own face and called it a brew for pigs. Let him seek his lodgings elsewhere."