that find favor with railroad corporations, and the man would probably
vent his spite against the public throughout his natural life.

From him, however, Dennis received his first dash of cold water, which
he minded but little, and went on his way with a good-natured laugh
at the crusty old fellow.

He was soon in the business part of the city. Applying at a large
dry-good store, he was told that they wanted a cash boy; "but he would
not do; one a quarter his size would answer."

"Then I will go where they want the other three-fourths and pay
accordingly," said Dennis, and stalked out.

He continued applying at every promising place, but to no purpose. It
was midwinter; trade was dull; and with clerks idling about the shops
employers were in no mood to add to their number.

At last he found a place where an assistant book-keeper was wanted.
Dennis's heart leaped within him, but sank again as he remembered how
little he knew of the art. "But I can learn quickly," he thought to
himself.

The man looked carelessly at his poor little letter, and then said,
in a business-like tone, "Show me a specimen of your handwriting."

Poor Dennis had never written a good hand, but at college had learned
to write a miserable scrawl, in rapidly taking notes of lectures.
Moreover, he was excited, and could not do himself justice. Even from his
sanguine heart hope ebbed away; but he took the pen and scratched