With that Mr. Dunbar stepped up to the desk and with a bow naively asked, "Can you tell me where there is a first-class gambling hall? I am a stranger to the calling, but would like to visit one of these dens said to be run in Chicago."
"An' who be ye thot ye want a gamblin' house at this time o' night? Get out o' here, there be's not a gamblin' din in all Chicago fer the last three years thot I've been on the cintral detail, is there, Jawn?"
And Mr. Dunbar took his departure with Chiquita. In her diary Chiquita entered this: "Visited the most horrible dens of vice imaginable, the refinement of educated debauchery, literally sitting in the lap of political lechery, hurling defiance at virtue, decency and respectability."
During her hospital career Chiquita had many experiences outside of the varied occurrences in the life of a nurse, which added to rather than detracted from the perplexities of civilizing her people. These other scenes enacted in the great empire of industry swept all minor attractions away, leaving a dreadful negative photographed indelibly upon her sensitive mind, whose films reproduced with startling detail not only the foreground of drastic events, but the background reproduction of unswerving determination on the part of political demagoguery which brought ruination to millions of people and even threatened the financial fabric of the entire world; a photograph more in accord with the despotic days of fiddling Nero than those of advanced civilization under the constitution of the new republic.
While waiting for a car that would take her to the hospital, Chiquita noticed numbers of men in rather shabby attire approach better clad individuals and after a little conversation each would go his way. In some instances the better dressed speaker put his hand in his pocket and handed the other a coin. Then the latter waited a time before accosting another and then another. Oftener would the better dressed individual shake his head, even savagely repulsing the appeal of his less fortunate brother. One of these solicitors-at-alms, for such they were, approached Chiquita, and as she presented no frowning or repellant mien, he politely doffed his cap and explained in a few words his mission.
"Pardon me, lady, I am unfortunate, I am out of work and have no place to sleep tonight. I have three cents; for five cents I can get a bed. Will you give me a penny? I will get another somewhere."
Closely scanning the man's face she saw not the hardened lines of dissipation, not the pallor of the convict nor the attenuated features of a cripple, but a young man in good health, decently clad, though in rather threadbare clothing. Chiquita had seen hundreds of men brought into the hospital of all grades and callings and had become an adept as a student of human nature. The man before her did not shift his eyes nor stand irresolute, but the mournful voice and drooping mouth told only too plainly that discouraging, despondent tale thrust so suddenly upon a prosperous nation in 1893.
"Why are you without work?" asked Chiquita.
"Canceled orders and help laid off indefinitely," replied the young man.
"Why were the orders canceled?"