University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
COLD WATER.

The train, somewhat impeded by snow, landed Dennis
in Chicago about nine P. M. In his pocket he had ten
dollars, ample seed corn, he believed, for a golden harvest.
This large sum was expected to provide for him till he
found a situation, and received the first instalment of salary.
He would inform his employer, when he found him,
how he was situated, and ask to be paid early and often.

Without a misgiving he shouldered the little trunk
that contained his wordly effects, and stalked off to a neighboring
hotel, that, from its small proportions, suggested a
modest bill. With a highly important man-of-the-world
manner he scrawled his name in an illegible, student-like
hand on the dingy dog-eared register. With a gracious,
condescending air he ordered the filthy, tobacco-stained
porter to take his trunk to his room.

The bar-room was the only place provided for strangers.
Regarding the bar with a holy horror, he got away

from it as far as possible, and seated himself by the stove,
on which simmered a kettle of hot-water, for the concoction
of punches, which seemed more in demand at that
hotel than beds. Becoming disgusted with the profanity
and obscenity down stairs, he sought refuge in the cold,
miserable little room assigned to him. Putting on his
overcoat, he wrapped himself up in a coverlid and threw
himself down on the outside of the bed.

The night passed slowly. He was too uncomfortable,
too excited to sleep. The scenes of the past blended confusedly
with visions of the future, and it was nearly morning
when he fell into an unquiet slumber.

When at last aroused by the shriek of a locomotive, he
found that the sun was up and shining on the blotched
and broken wall above him. A few moments sufficed for
his toilet, and yet, with his black curling hair, noble forehead,
and dark, silken upper lip, many an exquisite would
have envied the result.

His plan was simple enough—dictated indeed by the
necessities of the case. He must at once find a situation
in which he could earn sufficient to support his mother and
sisters and himself. Thence he could look around till he
found some calling that promised most. Having left college
and given up his chosen profession of the law, he had
resolved to adopt any honest pursuit that seemed to lead
most quickly to fortune.

Too impatient to eat his breakfast, he sallied forth into
the great city, knowing not a soul in it. His only recommendations
and credentials were his young, honest face,
and a letter from his minister, saying that he was a member
of the church in Blankville, “in good and regular
standing,” and, “as far as he knew, a most worthy young
man;”—rather meagre capital amid the competitions of
a large city. But, with courage bold and high, he strode
off toward the business part of the town.

As he passed the dépot it occurred to him that an
opening might exist there. It would be a good post of
observation, and perhaps he would be able to slip home
oftener. So he stopped and asked the man in the ticket-office
blandly,

“Do you wish to employ a young man in connection
with this dépot or road in any capacity?”

The ticket-man stared at him a moment through his
window, frowned, and curtly said,

“No!”

Then went on counting, what seemed to poor Dennis,
millions of money. The man had no right to say yes or
no, since he was a mere official, occupying his own little
niche, with no authority beyond. But an inveterate feud
seemed to exist between this man and the public. He
acted as if the world in general, instead of any one in particular,
had greatly wronged him. It might be a meek
woman with a baby, or a bold, red-faced drover, a delicately-gloved
or horny hand that reached him the change,
but it was all the same. He knitted his brows, pursed up
his mouth, and dealt with them in a quick, jerking way, as
if he could not bear the sight of them, and wanted to be
rid of them as soon as possible. Still these seem just the
peculiarities 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 goods store, he was told that they wanted
a cash boy; “but he would not do—one 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 mid-winter; trade was dull; and
with clerks idling about the stores, 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 sprang up 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
a line or two, of which he himself was ashamed. The
man looked at them with an expression of mild disgust,
and then said—

“Mr. Jones, hand me your ledger.”

The head book-keeper passed the volume to his employer,
who showed Dennis entries looking as from copper-plate,
and quietly remarked—

“The young man we employ must write like that, and
thoroughly understand book-keeping. Good-morning,
sir.”

Dennis walked out, feeling almost as crestfallen as if
he had been convicted of stealing, but the noon-day sun
was shining in the sky, the streets were full of life and
bustle, and hope revived.

“I will find the right niche before long,” he said to
himself, and trudged on.

Some time after he entered a retail drygoods store.

“Yes, they wanted a young man there, but he was
rather old.”

Still as the merchant saw that Dennis was fine looking,
would appear well behind the counter, and make a taking
salesman with the ladies, he stopped to parley a moment
more.

“Do you understand the business?”

“No sir, but I can soon learn, for I am young and
strong.”

“Strength is not what is needed, but experience.
Ours is not the kind of work for Paddies.”

“Well, sir,” said Dennis, rather shortly, “I'm not a
Paddy.”

The dapper little retailer frowned slightly at Dennis'
tone, and continued.

“You spoke as if main strength was the principal
thing. Have you had any experience at all?”

“No sir!”

But seeing intelligence in the young man's face, and
scenting a sharp bargain, he said,

“Why then, you would have to begin at the very beginning,
and learn the name of everything, its quality, etc.”

“Yes sir; but I would do my very best.”

“Of course, of course, but nothing can take the place
of experience. I expect, under the circumstances, you
would look for very little remuneration the first year?”

“How much could you give?”

The man named a sum that would not have supported
Dennis alone.

He replied that though his services might not be worth
more than that, he was so situated that he could not take
a very small salary.

“Then bring something besides ignorance to the market,”
said the man, turning on his heel.

Dennis was now hungry, tired, and disappointed. Indeed
the calls of appetite became so clamorous that he
sought a cheap restaurant. After demolishing a huge plate

of such viands as could be had at little cost, he sat brooding
over a cup of coffee for an hour or more. The world
wore so different an aspect from what it had on the morning,
that he was lost in a sort of dull, painful wonder.

But the abundant meal and slight element of coffee
that colored the luke-warm water, quite heartened him
again. He resolved to go back to his hotel and find a
more quiet and comfortable place in which to lodge until
something permanent offered. He made what he considered
sufficient inquiry as to the right direction, and resolved
to save even the car-fare of five cents by walking
the distance.

But whether he had not understood the directions
rightly, or whether, brooding over the events of the day,
his mind had been too preocupied to heed them, he found
to his great disgust, after walking two or three miles, that
he had gone away instead of toward his destination. Angry
with himself, out of humor with all the world, the
latent obstinacy of his nature began to manifest itself.
Though everything went “contrairy,” there was one thing
under his control—himself—and he would make that do
the bidding of his will.

Turning on his heel, he resolved with dogged resolution
to walk back the whole distance. He would teach
himself a lesson. It was fine business, just when he needed
his wits so sorely, to commence blundering in this
style. No wonder he had failed during the day; he deserved
to fail in other respects, since in this one he had
not shown the good sense of a child.

When people are “out of sorts,” and things are going
wrong, the disposition to blame somebody or something is
almost universal. But we think that it will be found a
safe general rule, that the nobler the nature, the less worthy
of blame, the greater tendency to blame self rather
than anything else. Poor Dennis had no great cause for

bitter self-reproaches, and yet he plodded on with an intense
feeling of self-disgust.

To think that after New England schools and three
years in college he should write such a hand and have no
definite knowledge of book-keeping! “What had he learned,
he'd like to know?” Then to go and lose his way like
a country bumpkin, as he was—and he gnawed his lips
with vexation.

The street-cars glided often and invitingly by, but he
would not even look at them.

At last, foot-sore and fairly aching with cold and fatigue,
he reached the little hotel, which appeared more
miserable, obscure, and profane than ever. But a tempting
fiend seemed to have got into the gin and whiskey bottles
behind the red-nosed bartender. To his morbid
fancy and eyes, half-blinded with wind and cold, they appeared
to wink, beckon, and suggest—

“Drink and be merry; drink and forget your troubles.
We can make you feel as rich and glorious as a prince, in
ten minutes.”

For the first time in his life Dennis felt a strong temptation
to drink for the sake of the effects. When was a
man ever weak that the devil did not charge down upon
him?

But the evil and ruin wrought in one case proved another's
safeguard, for the door opened and a miserable
wreck of a man entered. As Dennis looked at his blotched,
sodden face, trembling hand, shuffling gait, and general
air of wretchedness, embodying and suggesting the worst
ills of humanity, he decided not to drink for the sake of
the effects.

Then came another rush of self-disgust that he had
even entertained such a temptation, and he flung himself
off supperless to bed.

As he bowed that night he could not pray as usual.

For anger, passion with one's self, as well as with any one
else, renders true prayer impossible. But he went through
the form, and then wrapped himself up as before. The
wearied body soon mastered the perturbed mind, and he
fell into a heavy sleep that lasted till morning.