The bartender laughed, and after indorsing all that De Vere had said, added:
"Folks is got about over drinking ginger ale, nowadays. Lager's the proper stuff!"
Fred was a good scholar, but there was a little word of two letters that he had not yet learned how to spell; that is—no.
He drank the beer, and his fate was sealed. He was now a tool in Matthew's hands. On some pretense the young hypocrite excused himself from playing a game of billiards as he had at first proposed, and induced Fred to follow him into the street, knowing it was not safe for him to remain longer in the heated saloon.
It was his first intention to go back to the store, thinking that if Mr. Rexford should see Fred in a tipsy state he would discharge him. But just before reaching the merchant's place of business he stopped, and, taking Fred by the arm, walked quickly up the street.
Tim followed close enough to answer promptly if Matthew should summon him.
The liquor had already begun to have the desired effect. Fred had become talkative and boisterous, and in such a condition that he could be influenced to do almost any absurd thing.
Matthew was bound to make the most of his opportunities, and so he incited him by flattering words to call at Dr. Dutton's house, opposite which they now stood. Fred assented to this, provided Matthew would accompany him. This De Vere readily agreed to do, and he led the intoxicated youth up to the door, and rang the bell sharply.
Presently the door opened, and on stepping in Fred looked about for his companion, but he was nowhere to be seen.