Just then the miserable wretch entered who, appearing opportunely in
Gavin's Hotel, had cured Dennis of his desire to drink, when weary and
despondent, for the sake of the effects. For a moment they looked at
the blear-eyed, trembling wreck of a man, and then Dennis asked, "Had
God any hand in making that man what he is?"

"I should say not," said Bill Cronk, emphatically.

"Well, I should say the devil had," said Dennis; "and there behind the
bar are the means used--the best tool he has, it seems to me; for with
it he gets hold of men with some heart and soul in them, like you."

The man winced under the words that both conscience and experience
told him were true; at the same time he was propitiated by Dennis's
good opinion of him. He gave a big, good-natured laugh, slapped Dennis
on the shoulder, and said: "Wal, stranger, p'raps you're right. 'Tain't
every temperance lecturer though that has an awful example come in
just at the right time so slick. But you've stood by yer colors, and
we won't quarrel. Tell us, now, if it ain't private, what you're so
chopfallen about."

Dennis told his story, as grateful for this rough sympathy as a thirsty
traveller would be in finding a spring though surrounded by thorns and
rocks.

The round, jolly face actually grew long and serious through interest
in the young man's tribulations.

After scratching a shaggy but practical head for a few moments, Bill