"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.