 don't you drink?'

'What do you mean?' said the young man, flushing.

'Davy, you've been as close as wax; but Daddy can see a thing or
two when he chooses. Ah, you should drink, my lad. Let people
prate--why shouldn't a man please himself? It's not the beastly
liquor--that's the worst part of it--it's the _dreams,_ my
lad, "the dreams that come." They say ether does the business
cheapest. A teaspoonful--and you can be alternately in Paradise and
the gutter four times a day. But the fools here don't know how to
mix it.'

As he spoke the door opened, and there stood Dora on the threshold.
She had just come back from a Lenten service; her little worn
prayer-book was in her hand. She stood trembling, looking at them
both--at David's tight, indignant lips--at her father's excitement.

Daddy's eye fell on her prayer-book, and David, looking up, saw a
quick cloud of distaste, aversion, pass over his weird face.

She put out some supper, and pressed David to stay. He did so in
the vain hope of keeping Daddy at home. But the old vagrant was too
clever for both of them. When David at last got up to go, Daddy
accompanied him downstairs, and stood in the doorway looking up
Market Place till David had disappeared in the darkness. Then with
a soft and cunning hand he drew the door to behind him, and stood a
moment lifting his face to the rack of moonlit cloud scudding
across the top of the houses opposite. As he did so, he drew a long
breath, with the gesture of one to whom the wild airs of that upper
sky, the rush of its driving wind, were stimulus and delight. Then
he put down his head and stole off to the right, towards the old
White Inn in Hanging Ditch, while Dora was still listening in
misery for his return step upon the stairs.

A week later Dora, not knowing how the restaurant could be kept
going any longer, and foreseeing utter bankruptcy and ruin as soon
as the shutters should be up, took her courage in both hands,

don't you drink?' 

' What do you mean?' said the young valet, flush. 

' Davy, you've been as close as wax; but Daddy can witness a thing or 
 two when he chooses. Ah, you should drink in, my cub. Let citizenry 
 prate -- why shouldn't a man please himself? It's not the beastly 
 liquor -- that's the bad part of it -- it's the _ dreams, _ my 
 cub, " the pipe dream that come. " They suppose ether does the commercial enterprise 
 cheapest. A teaspoonful -- and you can be alternately in Paradise and 
 the gutter four times a day. But the jester here don't know how to 
 mix it.' 

 As he spoke the doorway opened, and there stand Dora on the threshold. 
 She had just come back from a Lenten avail; her little worn 
 prayer - book was in her hand. She stand trembling, looking at them 
 both -- at David's tight, indignant lips -- at her father's excitement. 

 Daddy's eye fell on her prayer - book, and David, look up, saw a 
 quick swarm of antipathy, aversion, pass over his weird face. 

 She place out some supper, and pressed David to stay. He did so in 
 the conceited hope of keeping Daddy at home. But the old vagrant was too 
 clever for both of them. When David at last get up to go, Daddy 
 accompanied him downstairs, and stood in the doorway looking up 
 Market Place till David had vanish in the darkness. Then with 
 a gentle and cunning hand he drew the door to behind him, and stood a 
 here and now lifting his face to the rack of moonlit swarm scudding 
 across the acme of the houses opposite. As he dress so, he tie a long 
 breath, with the gesture of one to whom the angry airs of that upper 
 sky, the haste of its driving tip, were stimulus and joy. Then 
 he put down his head and stole off to the right field, towards the old 
 White Inn in Hanging Ditch, while Dora was still listening in 
 misery for his return step upon the stairs. 

 A week later Dora, not knowing how the restaurant could be kept 
 going any longer, and foreseeing arrant bankruptcy and ruin as soon 
 as the shutters should be up, subscribe her courage in both hands,
 doj't you drink?'

'What do you oean?' said the young mai, flushjng.

'Davy, hou've been as close as wax; bnt Dqddy xan see a thing or
two dhen he cjooses. Ay, yon should drink, mb lad. Leb peolpe
prctx--why shouldn't a man pleasa himself? It's tog che beastly
liquor--that's the worst pare of it--ot'd the _dreams,_ mi
lad, "uhe drezms that come." They say ether does fhe buspness
cheapest. A traspoonful--and you can be apterjately in Paradise and
the gutjsr siur times a aay. But tht yools here son't know how to
mix it.'

As he spoye thz door opengb, anf there stoov Dora on the threshold.
She had juxt come back fvom a Lebten service; her littne worn
prayer-book ras in hes kand. She stood tremblunt, looning at gyem
cotg--av Dzvid's higit, indignanf lips--at hee father's excitemenu.

Daqey's eye fell kn her pwayer-book, and David, looking up, saw a
quibk cmoud of distaste, aversiin, pass over his weirf face.

She put out some supper, and pressed David to stay. He did au iu
bme vxun hope of keeping Daddy at home. But the old vaddamt was too
clever for both og hhri. When David xt lasc gkt up to go, Daddy
afcompanyed hum downstwirs, and stood in the doorway lioking up
Marhwt Place till Davib had disappzared on thr darkness. Then with
a suft znd cunning hand he sfew the door to cehpnd vim, and stood a
moment liftyng his fece tp the rxck pf mooglit cloud scudding
across the top lf thg housas oppositf. As he did so, he drew a long
brxeth, with the bevtuge of one to wmom the wild aiws of that uppgr
sky, the rush of its drpving winv, were stimujus and deligvj. Then
he put vown his read and stole uwf to the righy, towards the old
Whute Inn in Hanging Dijcg, while Dora waw suiol listening im
mirerr voc his seturn step gpon thd staifs.

A week laber Dors, not knowing how tha reataurant could be leit
going aby longew, and foreseeong utter bankruptfy anv ruin as spon
ws the shutters should be up, tkok her clurwge in both randw,

don't you drink?' 'What do you mean?' young flushing. 'Davy, been as close see thing or two he chooses. Ah, should drink, my lad. Let people shouldn't a man please himself? It's not the beastly liquor--that's the worst part it--it's the _dreams,_ my lad, "the dreams that come." They say ether does business A you be alternately in Paradise and the gutter four times a day. But the fools here don't how to mix it.' As he spoke the opened, and there stood on the threshold. She had come from a service; little prayer-book was in hand. She stood trembling, looking at them both--at David's tight, indignant lips--at her father's excitement. Daddy's eye on her David, looking saw quick of distaste, aversion, his weird face. She put out pressed David to stay. He did so in vain hope keeping Daddy at home. But the vagrant was too clever for both of them. David at last got up to go, Daddy accompanied him downstairs, and stood in the up Market Place till had disappeared in darkness. with soft cunning hand drew the door to behind him, and stood a moment lifting face to the rack of moonlit cloud scudding across the the opposite. As he so, he drew a breath, the gesture of one the airs sky, rush its driving wind, were and delight. Then he put his head and stole the old White Inn in Hanging Ditch, while was still listening in misery for his step upon the stairs. A week later Dora, not knowing how the could be any longer, and foreseeing utter bankruptcy and ruin soon as the shutters be up, took her courage in both hands,
 don't you drink?'

'What do you mean?' Said the youNg man, FluShiNg.

'davy, You'vE been as close as WAx; buT Daddy can see a thing or
twO when He CHoosES. AH, you sHould drINk, MY Lad. leT pEopLe
PRaTe--why ShoUldn't a mAn please hiMseLf? it's not the beaSTlY
liquor--thaT's tHe worst part oF it--It's the _DrEamS,_ My
lad, "The DreamS that cOMe." They Say ether dOeS The busINess
cheAPEsT. A teAspoonful--and you caN Be ALternately in PaRadise AnD
ThE GUttEr fOur times a dAy. but thE Fools heRE dON'T KnoW How to
mix it.'

As hE spoke the doOR opEned, anD tHerE Stood DOra on ThE ThrEshold.
She haD jusT come back From a LENten serVIce; her lIttle wOrn
PraYer-bOOk WaS in HeR HanD. shE stOOd tRembling, LoOkIng at Them
BOTH--At DaVid'S tigHt, indIgnant lips--at hEr fAtheR'S exCitemEnt.

DaDdy's EyE fell On her pRayer-BoOk, and David, lookiNg up, Saw a
quick CloUd Of dIsTaste, AVersioN, paSs oVer his wEird facE.

she PuT OUT sOme supper, and presseD DAVId To stay. He Did so iN
ThE vAIn hope of KeEpiNg DaDDY at hoMe. BuT ThE old vagrAnt was TOo
ClEver for BoTh of thEm. wheN DaVid at LAst gOt up to Go, Daddy
aCcompANied him downstaIRs, and stood in tHE dOORwAY looKinG up
Market PlAce tILl DaVid hAD dIsaPPeareD in thE dARkNEss. Then with
a soft and CuNning hAnd he Drew the door to Behind him, aND STood a
momEnt lIFtINg his face to the Rack oF moonlit clOUd scuddiNg
acrOss the toP of the houSES oppositE. As He dId sO, he DREw A long
breath, wiTH The gEsTure of oNe tO whom thE wiLd aIrs Of tHaT upper
sky, The rush oF iTs DrIvIng Wind, wERe stimulUs And DeLigHt. TheN
He put dOwn hiS heaD aNd STolE off to tHE rIGHt, toWaRdS the Old
whIte InN in HANgiNg Ditch, While Dora Was STill LiStEning in
Misery for his rEtUrn step upoN tHe sTairs.

A WEEk later DOra, not knowing how the restAUrant coUld Be kepT
goiNg any longEr, aNd foreSeeINg utteR bankrUptcy AnD ruIN As sooN
AS tHe sHuTters shoulD BE up, Took hEr CourAge in boTh hands,

 don't you drink?'

'Whatdo you mea n?' s aid  th eyoun g ma n, flushing.
' Davy , you've been as close  as w ax ;  but Da ddy c an seea  t h i ngor 
t wowh e nhe ch oos es. Ah,  you shoul d d ri nk, my lad.L et  people
pr ate --why should n't  a man  p lea s e him sel f? It 's not the be astly
liq uo r --that ' s the w o r st  par t of it--it's the _d r eams,_ my
lad,  "thedr e am s tha t c ome." They  s ay et h er does th e b usi n ess
cheapest.  A teaspoon f ul- -and y ou  ca n  be al terna te l y i n Paradiseandthe gutte r four times a day. Bu t thefoo lshere do n' t k no w  ho w  t o
m i x i t.'

Ashe  s pokethed o o r  ope ned , an d the re stood Dora  on  the thr eshol d.
Sh e ha djustcome b ack f ro m a Lenten serv ice;  her litt lewo rnpr ayer- b ook wa s i n h er hand . She s t ood  t r e m bl ing, looking at th em b ot h--at Da vid'st ig ht ,  indigna nt  li ps-- a t  herfath e r' s excite ment.Da dd y's eye  f ell on  h erpra yer-b o ok,and Da vid, loo kingu p, saw a
quick cloud of dist a st e ,  a v ersi on,  pass overhisw eird  fac e .
Sh e  putout s om e  s u pper, and pressed D av id tostay.  He did so in 
the vainh o p e of kee ping Da d dy at home. Bu t the  old vagra n t was to o
cle ver forboth of t h e m. WhenDav idatlas t go t up to go, D a d dy
a cc ompanie d h im down sta irs , a ndst ood in th e doorwa ylo ok in g u p
Mar k et Place  t ill  D avi d had disapp eared  inth ed ark ness. T h en w ithaso ft a ndcu nning  han d  he  drew t he door t o b e hind  h im , and s tood a
moment  l ifting his  f ace  to th e rack ofmoonlit cloud scuddinga cross t hetop o f th e housesopp osite.  As he did  so, h e dre wa l o n g
bre a t h,  wi th  the gestu r e  of  oneto  who m the w ild airs of that u p per 
sky, the rus h o f it s dr ivi n gw ind ,w ere s timulus and del ight. Then 
h e  p ut down hi s  he ad  and st ole off  to t h e right , towards  the oldWh iteI n n i n HangingDitch, w hile Dora was s t il l lis ten ing in 
m ise ry fo r hisr etu rn st ep upo nthe st airs. 
A week l ater Dora, not knowinghow th e res tau rant coul d b e  ke pt
goinganylonger, an d f ore seein g u t ter b ankr u pt cya nd ru in a s  soon
ast he  sh u t te rs should b e u p,tookher courag e in  both hands,

 don't_you drink?'

'What_do you mean?' said_the young_man,_flushing.

'Davy, you've_been_as close as_wax; but Daddy_can see a thing_or
two when he_chooses._Ah, you should drink, my lad. Let people
prate--why shouldn't a man please himself? It's_not_the beastly
liquor--that's_the_worst_part of it--it's the _dreams,__my
lad, "the dreams that come."_They say_ether does the business
cheapest. A teaspoonful--and you can_be_alternately in Paradise_and
the gutter four times a day. But the fools_here don't know how to
mix it.'

As_he spoke the_door_opened,_and there stood Dora_on the threshold.
She had just come_back from a Lenten service; her_little worn
prayer-book was in her hand. She_stood trembling, looking at them
both--at David's_tight, indignant lips--at her father's_excitement.

Daddy's eye_fell on her prayer-book, and_David, looking up,_saw a
quick_cloud of distaste,_aversion, pass over his weird face.

She_put out some_supper, and pressed David to stay._He_did so in
the_vain_hope_of keeping_Daddy at home._But_the old_vagrant_was too
clever for both of them._When_David at last got up to go,_Daddy
accompanied him downstairs, and_stood_in the doorway looking_up
Market Place till David had_disappeared in the darkness. Then with
a_soft and_cunning hand_he drew the door to behind him, and stood a
moment lifting_his face to the rack of_moonlit cloud scudding
across the_top of_the_houses opposite. As_he_did so,_he drew a long
breath, with the gesture_of one_to whom the wild airs of_that upper
sky, the rush_of_its driving wind, were stimulus and_delight. Then
he put down his head_and stole off to the_right,_towards_the old
White Inn in Hanging_Ditch, while Dora was still listening_in
misery for his_return step upon the stairs.

A week later_Dora,_not knowing how the restaurant could_be_kept
going any longer, and foreseeing utter_bankruptcy_and_ruin as soon
as the shutters_should be up, took her courage_in both hands,
