scenes of violence were his delight and daily experience. He rather
gloried in a black eye, for he always gave two in exchange, and his
own bruised, swollen member paved the way gracefully for the telling
of his exploits, as it awakened inquiry from the lesser lights among
whom he shone. But what would Dennis have done among the merchants
with "a head on him," as the barkeeper understood the phrase? He would
have had to return home, and that he felt would be worse than death.
In fact, he had come nearer to a desperate struggle than he knew, for
Barney rarely resisted so inviting an opportunity to indulge his
pugilistic turn, and had he not seen the policeman going by just at
that time, there would have been no idle threats in the case.

Dennis set his teeth with dogged resolution, determined if necessary,
to persevere in his search till he dropped in the street. But as he
remembered that he had less than five dollars left, and no prospect
of earning another, his heart grew like lead.

He spent several weary hours in the vain search for a boarding-house.
He had little to guide him save short answers from policemen. The
places were either too expensive, or so coarse and low that he could
not bring himself to endure them. In some cases he detected that they
were accompanied by worse evils than gambling. Almost in despair,
tired, and very hungry (for severe indeed must be the troubles that
will affect the appetite of healthful youth on a cold winter day), he
stopped at a small German restaurant and hotel. A round-faced, jolly
Teuton served him with a large plate of cheap viands, which he devoured
so quickly that the man, when asked for more, stared at him for a
moment, and then stolidly obeyed.

"What do you ask for a small room and bed for a night?" said Dennis.