"But you haven't had any dinner, nor any lunch, nor breakfast,"

interrupted Livingstone, speaking as one who had himself fared sumptuously.

"A letter like that is worth more than a good many dinners," said Van Dorn.

"Yes," agreed Perner; "it is--to all of us."

The faces of the two older men had become reminiscent. Perhaps they were remembering--one a wife, the other a sweetheart--both memories now for a dozen years or more.

"Boys, do you recollect the dinner we had a year ago to-night?" This from Livingstone.

The others nodded. They were remembering that, too, perhaps.

"Then the bread line afterward?" said Perner. "We gave them a nickel apiece all around, and were going to give them a dollar apiece to-night.

And now, instead of that--"

"Instead of that," finished Van Dorn, "we can go down to-night and get into the line ourselves. Light up, Stony; we'll take a look at your picture, anyhow."

There was a brisk, whipping sound against the skylight above them. It drew their attention, and presently came again. Livingstone arose hastily.

"Sleet!"

He spoke eagerly, and looked up at the gla.s.s overhead. Then he added in a sort of joyous excitement:

"Fellows, let's do it! Let's go down there and get into the line ourselves! I've been waiting for this sleet to see how they would _look_ in it. Now we're hungry, too. Let's go down and get into the line and see how it _feels_!"

Van Dorn and Perner stared at him a moment to make sure that he was in earnest. There was consent in the laugh that followed. The proposition appealed to their sense of artistic fitness. There was a picturesque completeness in thus rounding out the year. Besides, as Livingstone had said, they were hungry.

They set forth somewhat later. There was a strong wind, and the sleet bit into their flesh keenly. It got into their eyes and, when they spoke, into their mouths.

"I don't know about this," shouted Van Dorn, presently. "I think it's undertaking a good deal for the sake of art."

"Oh, pshaw, Van, this is bully!" Livingstone called back. He was well in advance, and did not seem to mind the storm.

Perner, who was tall, was shrunken and bent by the cold and storm. His voice, however, he lifted above it.

"Art!" he yelled. "I'm going for the sake of the coffee!"

The line that began on Tenth Street had made the turn on Broadway and reached almost to Grace Church when they arrived. The men stood motionless, huddled back into their scanty collars, their heads bent forward to shield their faces from the sharp, flying ice. Strong electric light shone on them. The driving sleet grew on their hats and shoulders. Those who had just arrived found it even colder standing still. Van Dorn's teeth were rattling.

"Do you suppose there's always enough to go round?" he asked of Perner, who stood ahead of him.

Talking was not pleasant, but the waif behind him answered:

"Wasn't last night. I was on the end of the line and didn't git no coffee. Guess there'll be enough to-night, though, 'cause it's New Year."

"If they don't have coffee to-night I'll die," shivered Perner.

Livingstone stood ahead of Perner in the line.

"If it stops with me I'll give you mine," he said. "I'm not hungry, nor cold, either."

The waif in front of him and the waif behind Van Dorn both made an effort to see Livingstone.

"What are you doing here, then?" growled the man behind. He saw that the three ahead of him were better dressed than the others and regarded them suspiciously. "What did you fellers come here for, anyway?"

There was a chance for a final joke. It fell to Perner:

"We've been keeping up a whole family," he chattered,--"several whole families. Now we're broke."

"You can have my place in the line," added Livingstone, and they changed.

The incident attracted little attention. Storm, cold, and hunger had deadened the instinct of curiosity natural to every human bosom.

Presently Livingstone leaned forward and murmured to Van Dorn:

"Look at that old chap ahead yonder--around the corner. How he crouches and shivers! Isn't that great?"

Van Dorn looked as directed--then more keenly.

"Good G.o.d!" he said, "it's Colonel Hazard!" He leaned forward to Perner.

"Isn't that the Colonel," he asked,--"that old fellow just around the corner, with his collar full of sleet?"

"By gad, it is!" decided Livingstone.

"We'll take him back with us," said Perner. "Poor old Colonel!"

The waif from behind was talking again. He had turned around so they could hear.

"Last New Year there was some blokes come along an' give us a nickel apiece all round. I was on the end an' got two. When they went away one of 'em said they was comin' back to-night to give us a dollar apiece."

"They won't come," said Perner.

"How d' y' know?"

"We're the men."

"Aw, what yeh givin' us?"

"Facts. We've started a paper since then."

A party of roisterers came shouting across the street.

"Come and have a drink," they called. "Come on, you fellows, and have a drink with us!"

A number of men left their places in the line and went. Perner watched one of them intently.

"If that fellow isn't Bates you can drink my coffee," he said, pointing.

Van Dorn and Livingstone looked, but could not be certain. They did not see him return.