Throughout the day Dawkins appeared unusually nervous, and made several blunders which annoyed Mr. Danforth. Evidently he had something on his mind. Not to keep the reader in suspense, George had fallen among bad companions, where he had learned both to drink and to gamble. In this way he had made the acquaintance of Duval, an unscrupulous sharper, who had contrived to get away all his ready money, and persuading him to play longer in the hope of making up his losses had run him into debt one hundred and fifty dollars. Dawkins gave him an acknowledgment of indebtedness to that amount. This of course placed him in Duval's power, since he knew of no means of raising such a sum. He therefore kept out of the Frenchman's way, avoiding the old haunts where he would have been likely to meet him. Dawkins supposed Duval ignorant of the whereabouts of his employer's counting-room. So he had been, but he made it his business to ascertain where it was. He had no idea of losing sight of so valuable a prize. Dawkins would willingly have broken the appointment he had made with Duval, but he did not dare to do so. He knew that the man was well able to annoy him, and he would not on any account have had the affair disclosed to his father or Mr. Danforth. As Trinity clock struck eight, he entered a low bar-room in the neighborhood of the docks. A young man with pale, sandy hair stood behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up. He was supplying the wants of a sailor who already appeared to have taken more drink than was good for him. “Good evening, Mr. Dawkins,” said he, “you're a stranger.” “Is Duval in?” inquired Dawkins, coldly. His pride revolted at the place and company. He had never been here but once before, having met Duval elsewhere. “He's up in his room. John show the young gentleman up to No. 9. Won't you have a glass of something this evening?” “No,” said Dawkins, abruptly. The boy preceded him up a dark and dirty staircase. “That's the room, sir,” he said. “Stop a minute,” said Dawkins, “he may not be in.” He inwardly hoped he might not. But Duval answered his knock by coming to the door himself. “Delighted to see you, mon ami. John, may leave the lamp. That's all, unless Mr. Dawkins wishes to order something.” “I want nothing,” said Dawkins. “They have some capital brandy.” “I am not in the mood for drinking tonight.” “As you please,” said the Frenchman, disappointed; “be seated.” Dawkins sat down in a wooden rocking-chair, minus an arm. “Well,” said Duval, “how much money have you brought me?” “None.” The Frenchman frowned and stroked his mustache, fiercely. “What does all this mean? Are you going to put me off longer?” “I would pay it if I could,” said Dawkins, “but I haven't got the money.” “You could get it.” “How?” “Ask your father.” “My father would rave if he knew that I had lost money in such a way.” “But you need not tell him.” “If I ask for money, he will be sure to ask what I want it for.”