Mr. Harrison—­this was the name by which Matthew addressed him—­ stood musing and irresolute for some minutes.  He could not be mistaken about the entrance of his sons, and yet they were not there.  His manner was much perplexed.  At length he took a seat, in a far corner of the bar-room, somewhat beyond the line of observation, evidently with the purpose of waiting to see if those he sought would come in.  He had not been there long, before two young men entered, whose appearance at once excited his interest.  They went up to the bar and called for liquor.  As Matthew set the decanter before them, he leaned over the counter, and said something in a whisper.

“Where?” was instantly ejaculated, in surprise, and both of the young men glanced uneasily about the room.  They met the eyes of Mr. Harrison, fixed intently upon them.  I do not think, from the way they swallowed their brandy and water, that it was enjoyed very much.

“What the deuce is he doing here?” I heard one of them say, in a low voice.

“After the boys, of course.”

“Have they come yet?”

Matthew winked as he answered, “All safe.”

“In No. 4?”

“Yes.  And the wine and cigars all waiting for you.”

“Good.”

“You’d better not go through the parlor.  Their old man’s not at all satisfied.  He half suspects they’re in the house.  Better go off down the street, and come back and enter through the passage.”

The young men, acting on this hint, at once retired, the eyes of
Harrison following them out.

For nearly an hour Mr. Harrison kept his position, a close observer of all that transpired.  I am very much in error, if, before leaving that sink of iniquity, he was not fully satisfied as to the propriety of legislating on the liquor question.  Nay, I incline to the opinion, that, if the power of suppression had rested in his hands, there would not have been, in the whole state, at the expiration of an hour, a single dram-selling establishment.  The goring of his ox had opened his eyes to the true merits of the question.  While he was yet in the bar-room, young Hammond made his appearance.  His look was wild and excited.  First he called for brandy, and drank with the eagerness of a man long athirst.

“Where is Green?” I heard him inquire, as he set his glass upon the counter.

“Haven’t seen anything of him since supper,” was answered by Matthew.

“Is he in his room?”

“I think it probable.”

“Has Judge Lyman been about here tonight?”

“Yes.  He spouted here for half an hour against the temperance party, as usual, and then”—­Matthew tossed his head toward the door leading to the sitting-room.

Hammond was moving toward this door, when, in glancing around the room, he encountered the fixed gaze of Mr. Harrison—­a gaze that instantly checked his progress.  Returning to the bar, and leaning over the counter, he said to Matthew: