in his business and studies after Mr. Jocelyn had recovered, he had given no further thought to these friends, nor had it occurred to him that they were more than passing acquaintances.  But a letter from Roger’s father, who had heard of Mr. Jocelyn’s condition and of his son’s intimacy with the family, awakened the conservative uncle’s suspicions, and that very afternoon the well-meaning but garrulous Mrs. Wheaton had told his wife all about what she regarded as brilliant performances on the part of Roger at the police court.  Mrs. Atwood was a kind-hearted woman, but she had much of her husband’s horror of people who were not respectable after her strict ideal, and she felt that she ought to warn him that Roger’s friends were not altogether desirable.  Of course she was glad that Roger had been able to show that the young girl was innocent, but shop-girls living in low tenements with a drunken father were not fit companions for their nephew and possible heir.  Her husband indorsed her views with the whole force of his strong, unsympathetic, and ambitious nature, and was now awaiting Roger with the purpose of “putting an end to such nonsense at once.”  The young man therefore was surprised to find, as he entered the hallway, that his uncle was up at an hour late for him.

“I wish to see you,” was the prompt, brief greeting from Mr. Atwood, who was uneasily tramping up and down the small stiff parlor, which was so rarely used that it might almost have been dispensed with as a part of the residence.  Roger came forward with some anxiety, for his uncle lowered at him like a thunder-cloud.

“Sit there, where I can see your face,” was the next curt direction.  There was neither guilt nor fear in the frank countenance that was turned full upon him.  “I’m a man of few words,” he resumed more kindly, for Roger’s expression disarmed him somewhat.  “Surely,” he thought, “when the boy gets a hint of what I can do for him, he’ll not be the fool to tangle himself up with people like the Jocelyns.”

“Where have you been to-night?” he asked bluntly.  Roger told him.  “Where were you last night and this morning?” Roger briefly narrated the whole story, concluding, “It’s the first time I’ve been late to business, sir.”

The old man listened grimly, without interruption, and then said, “Of course I’m glad you got the girl off, but it’s bad management to get mixed up in such scrapes.  Perhaps a little insight into court-room scenes will do you no harm since you are to be a lawyer.  Now that the affair is over, however, I wish you to drop these Jocelyns.  They are of no advantage to you, and they belong to a class that is exceedingly disagreeable to me.  I suppose you know what kind of a man Mr. Jocelyn is?”

“Yes, sir; but you do not know what kind of a woman Mrs. Jocelyn is.  She is—­”

“She is Jocelyn’s wife, isn’t she?”

“Certainly; but—­”

“And the girl is his daughter.  They live in a dowdy tenement, and are as poor as crows.”