to him.

"Oh, gosh!" said the man, "I've got quarrels 'nough of my own without
getting my head broke for fellers I don't know."

Dennis was almost speechless from indignation. Conscious of strength,
his strong impulse for a moment was to spring at the throat of the
barkeeper and vent his rage on him. There is a latent tiger in every
man. But a hand seemed to hold him back, and a sober second thought
came over him. What! Dennis Fleet, the son of Ethel Fleet, brawling,
fighting in a bar-room, a gambling-den, and going out to seek a
situation that required confidence and fair-appearing, all blackened,
bruised, and bleeding! As the truth flashed upon him in strong revulsion
of feeling he fairly turned pale and sick.

"There's the money," said he, hoarsely, "and God forgive you."

In a moment he had taken his trunk and was gone. The barkeeper stared
after him, and then looked at the money with a troubled and perplexed
face.

"Wal," said he, "I'm used enough to havin' folk ask God to damn me,
but I'm blessed if I ever had one ask Him to forgive me, before. I be
hanged," said he, after a moment, as the thought grew upon him--"I
be hanged if I wouldn't give him back the money if he hadn't gone so
quick."

With heart full of shame and bitterness, Dennis hastened down the
street. At the corner he met a policeman, and told him his story. All
the satisfaction he got was, "You ought not to go to such a place. But