He came at last to a small hotel on the opposite side of the town from whence he started. It was situated in a cosy little bower in the outskirts, and was called "The Retreat." And rumor had it that many of the so-called gentlemen of Bayton were wont to resort thither to get on a genteel debauch, and to engage in the innocent diversions of euchre, poker, and whist, and it was said a great deal of money changed hands here on certain occasions. Barton was well acquainted with the proprietor--Joe Tims by name. He certainly would not have been mistaken for a teetotaler. He was, however, considered a model landlord, because he would not sell liquor to a man after he was drunk; though he never hesitated to furnish him with as much as he would pay for until that stage was reached. Barton had frequently been there before; for he was a young man who would take a glass with a friend, and had once or twice in his life been intoxicated. In fact, he belonged to the great army of moderate drinkers. When he came in front of the hotel he heard voices within, and acting upon the impulse of the moment, he opened the door and entered. As he stepped in he found several young men, with many of whom he was well acquainted, standing in front of the bar, glasses in hand, just about to drink. The one who was "standing treat" hailed him with, "Come, Barton, take something," and, being in a reckless mood, he said, "I will take brandy." The decanter was handed to him, and he filled his glass more than half full, which was noticed by the landlord and young men present, and thought for him very singular. After he had drained his glass, he said, "Come, boys, it's my treat now! What will you have?" They again stepped up to the bar and each took his glass. "I will have some more brandy," he said, and he again took twice the quantity that is usually taken. "Be careful, Barton, my boy," said Tims; "that brandy is 'the real old stingo,' and will set you up before you know where you are. I don't want you to think I care how much you take, but would not like you to do something for which you will be sorry afterwards." "I guess his girl has gone back on him," remarked a young man by the name of William Stewart. "I hear that English snob, Ginsling, is now shining round there, and that pa' and ma' favor his suit." Several of the others, with the same want of good taste as had been manifested by Stewart, joined him in giving expression to a number of coarse jokes and vulgar witticisms. Barton stood as if stunned for a moment, and then, with a frown, said: "Gentlemen, you will oblige me by changing the subject." As he requested, the subject was allowed to drop by those present, but not before they had stung poor Barton almost to madness. "My God," he thought, "then it has come to this, that she for whom I would sacrifice my life, through the folly of her parents has become the object of the coarse, vulgar witticisms of bar-room loafers! The thought is almost unendurable."