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" Silence. My only love is for my poor lost son. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. It has become a part of the order of my life.
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