A HORNET'S NEST
Dennis awoke greatly refreshed and strengthened. For half an hour he
lay quietly thinking over the scenes of the preceding day; something
of his old anger returned, but he compressed his lips, and, with a
face expressing the most resolute purpose, determined that the day
before him should tell a different story. Every faculty and energy he
possessed should be skilfully bent to the attainment of his objects.
Wise deliberation should precede everything. He would write a few lines
to his mother, decide as to a lodging-place, and then seek better
success in another part of the city. He went to the bar and inquired
as to his bill, and found that so far as bed and meals were concerned,
such as they were, he could not find anything cheaper in the city, the
house evidently not depending on these for its revenue. Disgusted as
he was with his surroundings, he resolved to lose no time in looking
for a new boarding-place, but, after writing to his mother, to start
off at once in search of something permanent. He was in no mood to
consult personal wishes, and the saving of time and money settled the
question.
Where should he write? There was no place save a desk at the end of
the bar. Looking askance at the half-filled, villanous-smelling bottle
at his elbow, he wrote in a hand stiff and unnatural (for he had
resolved to change his scrawl to a business hand at once), the following
note:
"CHICAGO, ILL., Jan. 10th.
"DEAR MOTHER--I arrived safely, and am very well. I did not, yesterday,
find a situation suited to my taste, but expect better success to-day.
I am just on the point of starting out on my search, and when settled
will write you full particulars. Many kisses for yourself and the
little girls. Your affectionate son, DENNIS."
"There! there is nothing in that to worry mother, and soon I shall
have good news for her." (If he had seen its reception, he would have
learned his mistake. The intuitions of love are keen, and this formal
negative note in the constrained hand told more of his disappointment
than any words could have done. While he knew it not, his mother was
suffering with him. In reply she wrote a letter full of general
sympathy, intending to be more specific when he gave her his
confidence.)
Dennis folded the letter most carefully and mailed it--for he was now
doing the least thing with the utmost precision--with the air of one
who meant to find out the right thing to do, and then to do it to a
hair-breadth. Nothing should go wrong that day. So at an early hour
he again sallied forth.
Not far from the hotel there was a new grocery store about to be opened
by two young men, formerly clerks, but now setting up for themselves.
They stood at the door receiving a cart-load of goods as Dennis
approached. He had made up his mind to ask at every opportunity, and
to take the first thing that promised fairly; he would also be very
polite. Touching his hat to the young men--a little act pleasing to
them in their newly acquired dignity as heads of a firm which as yet
had no subordinates--Dennis asked if they would need any assistance.
Graciously replying to his salutations, they answered, yes; they wanted
a young man.
Dennis explained that he was from the country, and showed the
ministerial letter. The young grocers looked wise over it, seemed
pleased, said they wanted a young fellow from the country, that was
not up to city tricks. Chicago was a hard place on young men--spoiled
most of them. Glad he was a member of the church. They were not, but
believed a man must be mighty good to be one. As the young man they
hired must sleep in the store, they wanted one they could trust, and
would prefer a church member.
The salary they offered was not large, but pretty fair in view of his
having so much to learn, and it was intimated, that if business was
good, and he suited, it would be increased. The point uppermost in
their minds was to find some one with whom they could trust their store
and goods, and this young man from the country, with a letter from a
minister, seemed a godsend.
They engaged him, but just as he was starting, with heart swelling
with self-satisfaction and joy, one of the firm asked, carelessly,
"Where are you staying?'"
"At Gavin's Hotel."
The man turned sharply, and looked most suspiciously at him, and then
at his partner, who gave a low whistle of surprise, and also eyed the
young man for a moment askance. Then the men stepped aside, and there
was a brief whispered consultation. Dennis's heart sank within him.
He saw that something was wrong, but what, he had not the least idea.
The elder member of the embryo firm now stepped up and said, decidedly,
"Good-morning, young man; we shall not need your services."
"What do you mean?" cried Dennis, in a voice of mingled dismay and
indignation.
The man's face was growing red with anger, but he said, coldly, "You
had better move on. _We_ understand."
"But _I_ don't understand, your course toward me is most unjust."
"Look here, young man, we are too old birds to be caught by any such
light chaff as you have about you. You are a pretty church member, you
are! You are a smart one, you are; nice boy, just from the country;
suppose you do not know that Gavin's Hotel is the worst gambling hole
in the city, and every other man that goes there a known thief. Come,
you had better move on if you do not want to get into trouble. You
will make nothing here."
"But I tell you, gentlemen--" cried Dennis, eagerly.
"_You_ may tell what you please. _We_ tell you that we would not believe
any one from that den under oath. Now you leave!"
The last words were loud and threatening. The attention of passers-by
was drawn toward them, and Dennis saw that further words were useless.
In the minds of shrewd but narrow business men, not over-honest
themselves, more acquainted with the trickery of the world than with
its virtues, suspicion against any one is fatal, and most assuredly
so against a stranger with appearances unfavorable.
With heart wellnigh bursting with anger, disappointment, and shame,
Dennis hastened away. He had been regarded as a thief, or at best a
blackleg, seeking the position for some sinister purpose. This was the
opening scene of the day on which he had determined that no mistakes
should be made, and here at the outset he had allowed himself to be
identified with a place of notorious ill-repute.
Reaching the hotel, he rushed upstairs, got his trunk, and then turned
fiercely on the red-nosed bartender-"Why did you not tell me the
character of this place?"
"What kind of a place is it?" asked that functionary, coolly, arms
akimbo.
"You know well enough. You knew I was not one of your sort."
"You don't mean to say that this is a bad place, do you?" said the
barkeeper, in mock solemnity.
"Yes, the worst in Chicago. There is your money."
"Hold on here, my small chicken; there is some money, but not enough
by a jugful. I want five dollars out of you before you take that trunk
off."
"Why, this is sheer robbery," exclaimed Dennis.
"Oh, no; just keeping up the reputation of the house. You say it is
the worst in Chicago: must try and keep up our reputation."
"Little fear of that; I will not pay it;" and Dennis started for his
trunk.
"Here, let that trunk alone; and if yer don't give me that five dollars
cussed quick, I'll put a head on yer;" and he of the red nose put his
hands on the bar in readiness to spring over.
"I say, young feller," said a good-natured loafer standing by, "you
had better gin him the five dollars; for Barney is the worst one in
all Chicago to put a head on a man."
"And will you stand by and see this outrage?" said Dennis, appealing
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
you're lucky if they only took five dollars from you; they don't
let off many as easy as that."
"Can I have no redress?"
"Now look here; it's a pretty ticklish thing to interfere with them
fellers. It'll cost you plaguy sight more'n that, and blood, too, like
enough. If you'll take my advice, you won't stir up that hornet's
nest."