des of the unprotected
old walls added greatly to the discomfort and suffering of the "guests"
within. In every sense it was a record breaker. There had already
been three blizzards in the past month and a fourth was now in
progress. It was on the top floor, however, that the extreme severity
of the winter was felt. The cold biting winds howled and wailed over
the roof, circling around the skylight and forcing their way through
the cracked and broken panes of glass. It was impossible to keep the
draughty old hallway warm with the one small stove intended for that
purpose. Pinac, Fico and Poons, huddled together around the fire
bundled up in their overcoats, had to place their feet on the stove to
keep them warm or blow on their fingers and walk about the room to keep
their blood in circulation.

At this time Pinac and Fico were playing at Galazatti's for their
dinners, being unable to obtain more profitable engagements, and Poons
was playing in an uptown theatre. Poons was trying to save enough
money to get married, and neither Pinac nor Fico would touch a penny of
his earnings, although the boy generously offered them all or any part
of his savings to help them tide over until the Spring, when they were
reasonably sure of obtaining lucrative engagements. The men had just
finished their breakfast and Jenny was washing the dishes for them.

"I shall lay a cloth for the breakfast of Von Barwig when he shall wake
up," said Pinac, suiting the action to the word and spreading a red
tablecloth on the rickety wooden table. "His work at the Museum keeps
him so late he must sleep late."

"Sacoroto, the rotten museum he play at, I wish it was dead," growled
Fico.

They knew now that Von Barwig played at a cheap amusement resort on the
Bowery, and that it kept him out till early morning; and they loved him
for it all the more. They knew that necessity, not choice, had driven
him to it. Besides, it made them more akin to him, for it brought him
nearer their own artistic standard, and yet they did not lose one atom
of respect for the old man. Gone was his commanding spirit, and in its
place was a quiet, gentle dignity which called forth respect as well as
love; but above all--love.

"He is sleeping later than usual," said Jenny as she restored the
crockery to its proper place in the cupboard.

"All the strength of the coffee will boil away," murmured Fico.

"Parbleu! we make new coffee for him," replied Pinac.