Chapter IV: Part 4

"It's likely to be cold and bitter almost any time after the
1st of October, but it ought to be very cold,--I mean in the
picture,--and there should be snow or sleet. I think sleet
would be better--a driving, stinging sleet, and a deadly
hard look on the pavement where the light reflects. There is
something in the way a man crouches and shrinks from sleet
that you never quite get any other way. Of course, I don't
want it to sleet on those poor fellows, but I know it will,
and when it does I must be there to see it.

"You see, the boys think this is the best thing I have done,
and I can't afford to fail on it at the end, though I'd like
to have it all done by Christmas, and it may not sleet
before January, or even then. But I'm not going to worry
over it,--think about it, I mean,--for, as I said, I
wouldn't really want it to be very cold and sleet at all,
if I could help it, only I know I can't.

"How good and noble you are, Dorry! When I think about your
not having gone away this summer on my account, it makes me
ashamed of myself, for really we have had a jolly time here
in town. Van says that even if we never get anything else
out of the paper, we have had a million dollars' worth of
fun, and it's about so. I am sorry I have ever seemed
discouraged or out of patience with things, for it made you
have a lot of sympathy with me, and though I liked it, of
course, and wanted it, I knew I didn't deserve it at all.

"I am glad, though, that the struggle will be over now in a
few days. Our first advertising--the 'cash for names'--comes
out on the 15th, and the rest--the premium offers--about the
25th. Also in our own sample copies. So you see, before the
1st of October the wheels will be turning very fast. Of
course, we may not have quite the great rush we expect, but
even if only half it will be enough.

"Good-by, sweetheart. I wish we might be together these
beautiful September days. The parks are fine now in the
early morning. Next year we will get up and walk out in them
together.

"With all my heart,

"TRUE."

XV

FINAL STRAWS

One morning when the busy writer and two artists who lived and toiled together in apartments near Union Square--now the offices of the "Whole Family"--returned to them after a light and wholesome breakfast, they found their stairway full of girls--girls of almost every age and apparently of almost every station in life. There were tall girls, short girls, slender girls, stout girls, girls of every complexion and every manner of dress. Also, more girls were constantly coming and pressing their way into the hall. The friends stood aghast.

Van Dorn swore under his breath.

"What is it?" whispered Livingstone, fearfully. "What have we done now?"

A flicker of light flitted across Perner's face.

"I guess the Colonel did it," he said. "He put a line in one of the papers last night for a few girls to help him. I suppose this is the result."

"Do you call this a few?" gasped Livingstone.

"Well, of course we couldn't tell just how many would come. That paper must have a good many readers. We don't have to take 'em all, you know."

Livingstone stared at the gathering of the clans helplessly.

"No," he commented; "I should think not." Then a moment later he added thoughtfully: "I suppose all these girls have to work to live. Let's take all of them we can, fellows."

And Van Dorn asked hopelessly:

"How are we going to get up-stairs?"

They worked their way through, at last, to the Colonel's room above. It was filled to the edges, as were the halls and stairways outside. The Colonel was already at his desk--his white hair tossed in every direction and a hunted look in his eyes. About him billowed the eager applicants, crowding and forcing their way toward the sheet of paper upon which he was having each write her name and address, both to show the style and rapidity of penmanship, and as a means of finding the ones selected. The friends watched the proceedings for some moments with interest. The girls regarded them curiously. Some of them whispered to each other and giggled. Van Dorn wedged his way to the Colonel's elbow and said in a subdued voice:

"Well, Colonel, this beats Gettysburg, doesn't it?"

The Colonel affected a great self-possession.

"Oh, this is nothing at all," he laughed. "I've been through this all my life. Once I engaged five hundred girls. I won't be able to get more than a dozen good ones out of this crowd."

"A dozen! I should think you could get a million!"

The Colonel tipped over an ink-bottle to show his superior calmness, and a black-eyed, rosy-cheeked girl jumped back with a tiny scream. The friends made their way to the room above, where, several hours later, Colonel Hazard joined them, somewhat pale and worn. He had sifted out ten good girls, he told them, after careful examination of the throng. It was learned later that he had locked the doors below as soon as possible to keep out the hordes that continued to come. Indeed, girls came singly and in groups all day. Those engaged were familiarizing themselves with the books in which names were to be entered. On to-morrow the first advertising was to appear. Barrifield, who was temporarily absent from the city in the interest of his employers, had arranged before he started to have the presses going on the papers. The end was in sight.

In fact, answers to their advertisements began to come the next afternoon, and the proprietors were much elated. There were only a few, to be sure,--not enough to cover the bottom of the big mail-box,--but they indicated that their offers had been seen and appreciated. Even Perner forgot his former misgivings and rejoiced. The answers were coming. The paper was ready for the press. The long-looked-for hour was at hand.

At dusk, however, came a slight shock.

Colonel Hazard came up with several letters. He remarked, handing them to Perner:

"There are some queer people in the world. Read one or two of those letters aloud."

Perner held one of the communications to the light. It said:

GENTLEMEN: I inclose you twenty good names of people likely
to be interested in your paper. Please send me the five
dollars as promised without delay. My birthday comes on
Saturday, and I want it before that time.

Yours hastily,
BESSIE GREEN.

"Humph! well named," said Van Dorn, while the others uttered various exclamations. "Well, I'm sorry for Bessie, but I'm afraid she'll be disappointed."

Perner selected another letter.

"This is from a boy," he commented; "his name is Robert Bright. You wouldn't suspect it, however, from his communication.

"GENTLEMEN: Here are ure twentie naims. Now send mi five
dollers, and dont be so slo about it or i will have the
polese on ure track. I have ben foold one or twise by
advertisment fellers but this time i mean to have wat is
coming."

The exclamations that followed this possessed an added degree of emphasis. Perner picked up a third letter.

"From a woman," he said.

"GENTLEMEN: I am sending the twenty names, and you don't
know how grateful I am or how happy it makes me to be able
to earn money for my little family, who are in need of the
necessaries of life. I hope you can send me the five dollars
to-night, and I am sure Heaven will reward you for your
great undertaking."

Nobody uttered a word for some moments. Then Livingstone said:

"Do you suppose there'll be many letters like that?"

And Van Dorn growled:

"Some people haven't got the sense they were born with. That advertisement was as clear as sunlight."

"It was," said Perner; "I wrote it myself."

Nevertheless, they made up the five dollars between them and mailed a check for it on their way to dinner. The next morning there were more answers in the big mail-box. The bottom was quite covered with postal cards containing lists of twenty names each.

Also, there was a letter from the man of the rolled-up sleeves, stating that he was prepared to run some twenty thousand copies of the paper, and would start the press upon receipt of a check for the amount. This was a severe blow, but as the amount was comparatively small it was not fatal. Besides, they had grown somewhat accustomed to such things. They were not even surprised when their landlord, who, with his family, occupied apartments in the rear, came in to demand his rent in the middle of the month--a thing he had never dreamed of doing since the first year of their occupancy. Not that he was at all afraid, he said, but he was only a poor man who sublet to them, and had met with ill fortune. Later, the Colonel came up with still further strange letters, though none so pathetic as the one of the night before.

However, there were other complications. People in small villages were sending lists containing the same names. Some of the lists were almost identical. When Perner realized this he scowled anxiously, and lay down on the couch to think.

"Good heavens! fellows," he exclaimed, "we'll ruin the nation!"

"What's the matter? What do you mean?" asked Van Dorn.

"Why, see here! People will be sending in the same names, and sending each other's names, till they get us so mixed up we can't straighten the thing out in a hundred years! Then they'll accuse us of fraud, and blame each other for a lot of things, too. The result will be that they'll get into a fight until the whole nation is in one immense wrangle. We'll ruin the country! That's what we'll do! We'll ruin the country!"

Perner had arisen and was walking the floor excitedly.

"I tell you, Van, your 'cash for names' scheme is a fallacy! I said so the other day, and I say so all the more now. I'll admit that I believed in it and abetted it at first. It looked like a big thing, and we all thought it was, but it isn't. In the first place, we can't afford it, as I told you before. In the next place, the people don't understand it, and we're going to be deluged with letters like those that came with the first mail. And even if we could afford it, and even if those letters didn't count, we can't afford to disturb the peace of the whole nation by creating hard feelings in every village and hamlet, that will finally end, not only with the utter ruin of our paper, but in riots and rebellion and government interference, if not in one mighty civil war and the total destruction of the whole English-speaking world!"

Perner's old manner--the manner in which he had set forth the scheme on the night of the golden dinner--had returned to him. It had returned, but with a difference: then he had been painting the glories of the plan; now he was depicting its horrors. The ten years' business experience had wallowed through a cloudland of dreams, but had materialized in very harsh daylight at last. As for Van Dorn and Livingstone, they sat gloomily silent. The Colonel was first to express himself. He said:

"I hardly think we need to disturb ourselves so seriously. At the rate the replies are coming I should say that there is no immediate danger of upsetting the universe with our plans. We have received a number, it is true, but unless there is a marked increase to-morrow, I may safely reduce my force of assistants by one half."

"You don't think, then, we'll get a hundred thousand lists of twenty names each in reply to our 'cash for names' advertisement?" Perner asked--somewhat relieved, it would seem.

"I don't think we'll get to exceed _five_ thousand."

In fact, they received somewhat less than one thousand, and the original twenty thousand papers were found sufficient. These, though paid for with some degrees of promptness, were not immediately forthcoming. It is the printer's way. The "man with his sleeves rolled up" does not hasten in the process of "wiping his hands on the cheerless towel" even after the requested check has been received and cashed. Though pleaded for, argued for, demanded at last violently, the "first round of the first issue" did not arrive until the morning of the 24th, at which time Colonel Hazard put on sufficient force to dispose of them in one day.

And so the "first round of the first issue" was out at last. Also, on to-morrow their premium advertisements would appear. The dice which they had been jingling so merrily for the better part of a year they had cast, finally, on the round green table of the world.

XVI

AT THE END OF THE RAINBOW

They were elated to find a subscription in the big mail-box on the following morning; at least, Perner and Van Dorn were, and Livingstone, though less demonstrative, seemed also gratified. Few, if any, of the sample copies could have reached their destination, and it must have been an early riser indeed who had already seen their advertising and forwarded a subscription. When the letter was found to be from one Dorothy Castle of Cleveland, the wonder grew.

"She must have got hold of an advance copy," commented Perner. "You came from Cleveland, Stony; do you know any Castles out there?"

Livingstone thought hard, and admitted that the name sounded familiar; his people might know her.

Then there was a careful examination of the precious document by each in turn.

"I'll bet that's a bully girl!" decided Van Dorn, with emphasis. "I can tell by the handwriting."

"She is that," agreed Livingstone.

"Let's have it framed and hung up as a souvenir," suggested Perner.

"Give it to me," said Livingstone. "I have an idea."

Perner made a copy of it first for the Colonel. His enthusiasm had returned.

"She wants a Bible," he commented. "I say, fellows, don't you think we'd better have a thousand Bibles sent right up? That seems to be the premium they want."

"Better wait till to-morrow," advised Van Dorn; "then we'll have the money to pay for them with."

This seemed good advice. The rest of the day they spent between the studios and the circulation department below. No further subscriptions were received, however, and though they remarked to each other that of course they did not expect them, it was evident that evening found them somewhat more silent than usual.

They were up next morning early. Breakfast was a mere form, and conversation difficult. They made a pretense of the usual banter, it is true, but the laughter sounded spasmodic and strange. The long strain upon them had told.

Perner reached the big mail-box first, and struck it with his foot. It rang hollow. He peered down through the long opening in the top.

"Empty," he said; "postman hasn't come yet. Perhaps there's such a lot it delayed him, or they're sending it in a special sack."

"Maybe the Colonel's already got it," suggested Van Dorn.

They ran up the stairs like boys. Colonel Hazard sat at his desk, his assistants ranged about a long table behind him. Some of them were idle. The others were entering a few belated lists of names.

"Mail come?" panted Livingstone, breathlessly.

The Colonel nodded.

"Came just as I did. Met the postman in the hall. Several lists of twenty names each, and two subscriptions--two very nice subscriptions, gentlemen, one from a sample copy, one from the advertisement in the 'Home.' We shall do nicely, gentlemen, when we get to going. It takes patience, of course, and capital; but we shall succeed with time and perseverance."

They dragged up the next flight to the studios. When they were inside, and the door closed, Van Dorn said:

"Do you know, the Colonel's getting so he makes me tired!"

"I guess he never heard of a man named Frisby," said Livingstone.

"I'll tell you," said Perner, "it's too soon. The paper just got out yesterday. People have to have a chance to read it, first, then to buy a money-order and a stamp. Even those that live nearest couldn't get their subscriptions in much before to-night."

"But the ones we've already got did," observed Livingstone, gloomily.

"And Frisby got in a thousand dollars the first day after his advertising appeared," remembered Van Dorn.

"Oh, well, that probably meant the _second_ day. I'll bet he didn't count the first day at all. Of course he didn't."

Livingstone suddenly brightened.

"Perhaps that wasn't all the mail; maybe they're bringing the rest of it in a sack."

There was a perceptible revival at this suggestion. Perner even became merry.

"Maybe in pots," he said,--"pots of gold!"

And Van Dorn, looking out of the window, remarked:

"We're like Frisby in one respect, anyway. He didn't have a dollar when his first subscription came--not a dollar!"

But the sack did not appear--nor the pots. Neither did they receive any further subscriptions on _that_ day. By night it was almost impossible to see humor in the situation, which shows that the bohemian spirit must have reached a very low ebb indeed.

On the following morning they did not think it worth while to go to breakfast, but waited at the foot of the stairs in a body for the postman. He came after what seemed an endless period, and brought quite a bundle of mail. There were a number of twenty-name lists and a quantity of circulars, also one subscription.

Even the Colonel appeared somewhat depressed at this falling off of a clean fifty per cent. in the returns, while the proprietors ascended to the floor above in silence. Perner fell into a chair and rocked gently. Van Dorn stared out of the window, as was his wont. Livingstone walked over and stood before his picture of the bread line.

All at once Perner began to laugh violently. The others turned and stared at him. He rocked harder and laughed louder. The faces of Livingstone and Van Dorn became really concerned. The latter said soothingly:

"Oh, come, old man, that won't do. You're overworked and nervous. You must take it calmly, you know."

But Perner only rocked and laughed more wildly. Finally he gasped out:

"I'm all right! I haven't got 'em! But _four subscriptions_! A year's work for four men, and one subscription apiece to show for it! The mountain rocked and groaned and brought forth a mouse! Oh, Lord! Ten years' business experience and four subscriptions! Twelve months' hard labor for two well-known artists, several thousand dollars in cash, and four subscriptions!"

He reeled off into another wild fit of merriment, and this time the others joined him. The humor of it had seized them all. Van Dorn toppled over on the couch. Livingstone lay down on a prayer-rug to laugh.

"Four subscriptions!" they shouted. "And Frisby got in a thousand dollars the first day. Cash paid for names, and four subscriptions! The crown-jeweled watch! The marvelous cracker-jack, double-rack, Hackensack camera! Money for Christmas shopping, and checks mailed promptly! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!"

They were not so far from hysteria, after all. When at last they could laugh no more, they were weak and exhausted.

"How about our steam-yacht, and houses on Fifth Avenue?" asked Van Dorn, and this was followed by a feeble aftermath of mirth.

"I'm glad we didn't take vacations," said Perner; "we'll enjoy them so much more next year, when we can go in style."

Livingstone said nothing, and his face had saddened. Presently one of the girls from below entered with a letter. It was postmarked at Chicago, and they recognized Barrifield's handwriting. It was addressed to Perner. He read it aloud:

"DEAR PERNY AND ALL: You will have things fairly under way
by the time you get this, and we will be already as good as
millionaires.

"Humph! Yes," commented Perner. "_Better_ than some millionaires, I hope!

"The subscriptions will be pouring in--"

"See 'em pour!" interrupted Van Dorn.

"and the premiums going out in a steady stream."

At this there was a general yell and another fit of laughter.

"I am sorry," the letter continued, "that we adopted that
watch, however, for I have found a much better one here, and
have got on the 'inside.' I have sent on a number of them,
which you can use where people call in person for their
premiums."

"They'll call," said Livingstone. "'Line forms up on the right. Come early to avoid the rush.'"

"I have sent them to you C.O.D."

Perner gaped up at the others.

"Oh, he has! He's sent them C.O.D.! Um! well, I don't think we'll use many of those watches--not _this_ week.

"I am anxious to know, of course, just how matters are
going, and if we beat Frisby the first day. Wire me to this
address just what we did and are doing. I will be with you
in a few days more."

"We'll wire him," grunted Van Dorn. "The wire'll be so hot he'll dance when it touches him. Beat Frisby! Oh, yes; we'll wire him!"

They did, in fact, at once, and within the hour received Barrifield's reply. It was conveyed in a single brief word:

CHICAGO, October 27, 1897.

_To the "Whole Family," New York._

Capitalize!

(Signed)
BARRIFIELD.

Perner read it, and it was handed to each of the others in turn. Then they looked at each other. Van Dorn said pleasantly:

"Why, yes; that's so. Capitalize! I hadn't thought of that. Stony, get up here and capitalize!"

Livingstone dug down in his pockets and brought up fifty-six cents.

"All right," he said. "That's every nickel I've got in the world. Let's capitalize!"

Almost immediately there came another telegram from Barrifield.

_To the "Whole Family," New York._

Don't sell any of my stock.

(Signed)
BARRIFIELD.

This promptly sent Perner off into another fit of hysterics.

"Oh, no; don't sell any of his stock!" he howled. "Don't! Don't sell any of _his_ stock! Please don't! Sell mine!"

XVII

A TELEGRAM FROM MISS DOROTHY CASTLE OF CLEVELAND TO MR. TRUMAN LIVINGSTONE OF NEW YORK

CLEVELAND, October 29, 1897.

_To Truman Livingstone, c/o the "Whole Family", New York._

Don't give up. Check one thousand to-day. Use it. Letter.

10 paid

(Signed)
DOROTHY.

XVIII

GRABBING AT STRAWS

Barrifield arrived three days later and began at once his effort to secure capital. In this he was quite alone, as no one of the others made even an attempt to produce friends of financial ability. True, the Colonel, who was a friend of them all, and who at last knew something of the situation, declared that he would take a very satisfactory interest in the enterprise if the money he was expecting would but come. This event did not occur, however, and matters grew more precarious.

To be sure, the number of subscriptions increased somewhat for a time, and on one day in November reached the maximum of thirty-two. This, Perner figured, would give them something like ten thousand in a year if they could rely on that many every day. But on the next day the number was less than twenty, and the tendency continued downward.

As for Barrifield, he made a most noble effort. He interviewed men of means whom he had known for many years, and others whom he had known for less than as many minutes. He came in each evening to report. He spoke of capital as being "timid" at this season, but he never lost hope. The others, whose faith had become a mere rag, and who were inclined to regard further effort as a farce, still kept on, at his urging, preparing the second and third issues, though in a hopeless and half-hearted way. Some one has said that it is harder to stop a paper than to start one. The proprietors of the "Whole Family" realized this daily. The money coming in was far from sufficient for the expense, but it served to prolong the death agony from week to week.

Perner, who had carefully figured out by this time the impossibility of success from any standpoint, was for quitting forthwith and getting back to work. Van Dorn was somewhat inclined in the same direction; Livingstone also, perhaps, though he announced his readiness to stay in the field as long as there was anything to fight for. Barrifield and Colonel Hazard were for an effort to the death.

The Colonel was invaluable at this period. All bills that came were referred to him. It was hard enough not to be able to meet them, but what was still harder, payment, he averted with a skill and kindly grace that would have done credit to Beau Brummel himself. The landlord went away empty-handed and laughing, and the landlady, who called later with an offspring clinging to either side of her skirts, was flattered by the Colonel into leniency, and the offsprings kissed by him in the jolliest manner possible. When, a few days later, she came again, he said:

"I will do anything, madam, anything in the world to oblige you. I would even pay you if I could. I have kissed the children--I will do so again. I will--if you will permit me, madam-- I--" But the blushing landlady had hurried away laughing, leaving the gallant Colonel and his assistants--now reduced in numbers to two--blushing and laughing behind her. No one could be offended at the Colonel.

As for Bates, they still managed to pay his salary, and he appeared to be very busy--also, at times, very drunk. However, he kept away from them for the most part, for which they were duly grateful.

Each night Barrifield had some one in view who would certainly come to the rescue on the morrow. Each night it was a different one. The rescuer of the night before had just invested his capital, was just about to do so, or had just lost largely on some former investment. Rushly of the "Home," and President Bright of Bright & Sons' Stellar, were both enthusiastic over the opportunity, and would certainly mention it to their friends. For themselves, it was, unfortunately, out of the question for the present. Rushly had purchased stock in his own paper. President Bright, in conjunction with his sons, had made large additions to their factory, etc. Truly, capital _was_ timid--unusually so.

Still Barrifield did not despair wholly. He gave a dinner, at last, to a number of men who were believed to have more or less capital at their command. At this dinner he set forth his plan in the most magnetic manner and glowing terms. His speech made a decided sensation. Almost to a man his guests declared it a good thing. One of them, the next morning, more conscientious than the others,--a noble spirit, in fact,--sent in his check for ten dollars--the first assessment on a single share.

And so the weeks dragged on. Subsequent rounds of the first issue were handled with no appreciable difficulty by the Colonel and his two assistants, and "the first round of the second issue" they managed to obtain from the printers in fairly decent season. But the third number dragged--dragged horribly--dragged until those who had subscribed began to write letters of inquiry that were not always polite. The "man with his sleeves rolled up" came to the rescue at last on this issue. He let them have it without the check. He even delivered the papers to the post-office for them, and advanced the postage from his own purse.

Matters being now sufficiently desperate, Perner urged daily that they turn their subscriptions over to some other publication to fill, and quit, short off. He was getting frightfully pinched for means, and the others, except Barrifield, no less so. Barrifield still had his salary. To be sure, they now had time in which to do some outside work, but the market had changed during the year, and it seemed almost impossible to dispose of matter which a year before the editors had fought for.

"Why, a year ago," grumbled Perner, "my quatrains used to be legal tender anywhere on Park Row for a dollar. Now they want to charge me advertising rates to print them."

"Same with pictures," echoed Van Dorn. "My opinion is that a lot of us will be back plowing corn next spring."

"It's a good while till spring," reflected Livingstone, gloomily. He was working on his painting a good deal these days, and perhaps getting truer feelings into it because of his own despair.

Barrifield came in at this juncture, filled with the usual enthusiasm. He had learned of a man who was thought to be anxious to invest in just such an enterprise as the "Whole Family." He was going to see him in the morning--he would almost certainly come to the rescue. They were discussing this possibility when Colonel Hazard entered. For the first time he looked worn and discouraged.

"What's the matter, Colonel?" asked Perner. "You look tired."

"Yes," assented the Colonel; "the landlady's been in again after the rent. The landlord was there, too, this afternoon. I think I've paid it in kind words and kisses about as long as I can. They said we'd either have to pay or give up the rooms."

This statement cast a momentary gloom even over Barrifield.

"And Bates," continued the Colonel, "has been in, too. He came to notify me that he would quit to-night unless he got his money for last week. We didn't pay him last week, you know. I should very promptly have told him to quit had I felt authorized to do so."

"No, no; don't do that!" protested Barrifield, anxiously. "Tell him to wait till to-morrow. Tell him"--he hesitated a moment, and then added in all seriousness, "tell him we'll raise his salary."

XIX

A LETTER FROM MR. TRUMAN LIVINGSTONE OF NEW YORK TO MISS DOROTHY CASTLE OF CLEVELAND

NEW YORK, December 28, 1897.

DEAR, DEAR DORRY: Well, Dorry, it's all over. All our hopes
and dreams have come to nothing. Perny pulled down the sign
in the hall this morning, and the furniture is being taken
out of the rooms below to sell for whatever it will bring to
pay as far as it will go on the rent. Perny said he wouldn't
go into a new year with this hanging over us, nor Van Dorn,
either, and I think it's just as well myself.

"You see, Dorry, it would be no use. Our plan looked well,
but it was all wrong; and even if it hadn't been, it would
have taken more money than we could ever have got hold of,
and a long, long time besides, to get started. Of course,
Frisby did it without money, but that was a good while ago,
and he was first in the field. It is like a prize drawn in a
lottery--the chances are against another being won by
anything near the same ticket number. And then, even Frisby
may not have done exactly as he said--people don't always
tell things of this kind just as they happened.

"Barrifield still hopes against hope that sometime he may
find some one with capital who will bring the 'Whole Family'
to life. He has taken the lists and books and things away to
show to such people; but I think it would be better if he
did not show them, for they could not seem much of an
inducement to any one with money already made and safely
locked in the bank. The Colonel has gone, too, and Bates,
and the last is the one bright spot in all this sad affair.
He went some weeks before the Colonel-- I believe I wrote
you at the time. Bates was a great trial to us all--a
greater trial even than I ever told you, for though I did
not speak of it before, he drank to excess, and we also know
now that he was unreliable in many ways. On all the
advertising he placed for us he received a commission, while
from the advertising he obtained for us we received no
returns, for it was all taken on trial, or in some such way,
and he had no contracts at all except the one of two dollars
I once mentioned. That was genuine, and we got the two
dollars.

"We thought, Dorry, with all of us together, we had a good
combination of people for starting a paper, but I realize
now that we probably had about the worst one that could be
imagined. Artists and writers can make a good paper, and the
'Whole Family' was not bad, as papers go, but it takes
somebody else to run it, and even Perny's ten years'
business experience was worse than nothing after being mixed
with about as many more years of bohemia. He says so himself
now. The Colonel was as bad as the rest of us--worse,
because he is older, and with him the habit of getting rich
on paper has had time to grow and become fixed. He will go
on chasing rainbows, I suppose, until the end of his days.
Poor old chap! When I shut my eyes I can imagine him in his
frayed clothes, with his white hair and his eager face,
racing madly across rain-wet meadows for the imaginary pot
of gold. That is what we have all been doing, Dorry, and had
our combination been ever so strong and our feet ever so
swift, we never should have found it.

"For I realize a great many things now that none of us
realized at the start. The cost of producing a paper is very
great, and there were many things that we did not know of at
all. Perny knows all about it now, and has figured it out
for me and Van, so that we see clearly at last that no
matter how much money we had started with, or how capable we
were, we should only have failed, for, unless we changed our
plans and charged higher for the paper and gave less
premiums, the more subscribers we got the more we should
have lost. It is some consolation to know that, for we might
have lost a hundred thousand dollars very easily in a year
if we had had it, or had raised it by subscription, as we
tried to do. Your little thousand would have been but a drop
in the ocean, and would have lasted only a few days. So I
send back the draft to you, now that everything is ended and
you cannot refuse to take it. As for my part of the
assessments, I managed to keep up and a little more, for I
was still in favor of going on when the others had reached
the limit of their means.

"And now comes the hardest part of all. For oh, Dorry dear,
I am going to do what I once said I would do if anything
happened to me, or if the paper failed and ruined us all. I
am going to release you. I could not think, Dorry, after all
that has passed, of letting you come here now to share my
poverty. For that is what it is, dear--just poverty; and
poverty in a big city is more humiliating and deadening to
all the joys of life than it can possibly be elsewhere. I
have nothing now but my hands, Dorry, and they are of little
value, for times have changed and there is much less work
than formerly. I have less even than that, because there are
some debts that have accumulated and must be paid.

"I never realized what riches were until I had them,--I mean
until I thought I had them, which was the same thing while
it lasted,--nor what poverty meant. And Perny says so, too,
and Van. Barry, of course, still has his salary. But I
realize now, and I am not going to let you leave comfort and
plenty, without care, to come here and share only privation
and care, without comfort, with me. It breaks my heart to
give you up, Dorry, but I know it is right, and while you
might still be willing, if I asked it, to fulfil your
promise to me, and do not realize all that it would mean, I
cannot ask you--I cannot allow you--to do it.

"Some day, Dorry, things may be different again. Some day,
if we both live and you are still free, and still care, I
may come to you and ask you to give me back your promise.
For you are free now, Dorry. I would be less than I am if I
did not give you your freedom now, after holding out to you
all the promises of wealth, and leading you to believe in
all my vain dreams. How beautiful you were through it all!
You only thought of others. Dear heart, what will the poor
poets and artists do now without the beautiful place you
were going to build for them? I suppose they must always be
poor dreamers like me to the end, and it is that poverty and
that end, darling, that I cannot ask you to share.

"Good-by, Dorry. We have been friends from childhood, and
friends we must still, be, for, whatever comes, I am always

"Your faithful
"TRUE."

"P.S. I believe I wrote you that your Christmas remembrance
came. I thank you for it once more. It is very beautiful. I
thought you might care for the book because it is an
autograph copy. I must not forget to wish you a happy and
beautiful New Year. It will be different from what we had
planned--different from the year just passed, which, I
suppose, has been happy, too, though I would not, for some
reasons, wish to repeat it. I forgot to tell you about my
picture. I am only waiting for a cold sleet to come, so I
can finish it. I had intended it, you know, for Perny's
Christmas, to hang over his desk in the new house; but there
is no new house, and he would not let me give it to him now,
so I shall try to sell it.

"TRUE."

XX

THE BARK OF THE WOLF

In the studios near Union Square, where two artists and a writer lived and toiled together, there was an atmosphere of heavy gloom. It was a bitter, dark day without, for one thing, raw and windy, while within there was little in the way of cheerfulness besides the open fire, which, for economy's sake, was not allowed to manifest any undue spirit of enterprise. Being the last day in the year--a year that had not been overkind to them--also added something to the feeling of pervading melancholy, and the fact that no one of the three had eaten since the previous evening was not conducive to joy.

They were not altogether without hope. They had tobacco, such as it was, and coal for the time being. Food was more or less of a luxury compared with these. They had scraped together their last fractional funds and invested them in necessaries. Then, too, there was to be more money; not much, of course,--there was not much money anywhere now,--but enough to satisfy for a time the gaunt wolf that was marching up and down in the hall outside, pausing now and then to grin up at the spot where the sign of the "Whole Family" had hung, and show his gleaming white teeth. It was Van Dorn who had pictured the situation in this manner, and added:

"I'm afraid to go out in the hall after dark, for fear he'll get me by the leg."

And Perner:

"I think we'd better invite him in. Maybe he's brought something."

Livingstone looked wearily in the fire.

"I wish the 'Decade' would send me that check they promised to-day," he muttered presently.

"And 'Dawn' the one they were to send me," said Van Dorn.

"And the 'Columbian' mine," echoed Perner. "If I thought I could get it now by going over there, I'd go."

"Too late, Perny; they're closed. You should have got it when you were there yesterday."

"Yes, I know; but I thought some of us would surely get one, and I didn't want to appear broke. I suppose, if they'd mentioned it, I'd have been fool enough to have said, 'No hurry--any time-- I don't need it.'"

Van Dorn regarded Perner gravely.

"Perny," he said severely, "it is my opinion that you did say those very words. Were you, or were you not, offered a check yesterday in the 'Columbian' office?"

"I _were not_! Though I believe there was some mention of having it made out if I wished it, and--"

"And you told them that any time next week, or next month, or next year would do! Let in the wolf, Stony; we're betrayed."

"Well," said Perner, "it'll be next year before it's next week, anyway."

Livingstone arose and marched up and down the floor.

"Don't do that," said Van Dorn. "It'll make you hungrier."

"I suppose Barry's gone home," reflected Perner, "hasn't he, Van, by this time?"

"Yes; and he lives seven miles beyond the bridge--too far to walk to-night."

Livingstone paused in his exercise.

"I believe there's one more mail," he said; "isn't there, fellows?"

"Why, yes, that's so!" declared Perner. "And if there isn't, go down anyway. Maybe somebody's put something in the Colonel's mail-box that we can eat or sell."

Livingstone disappeared and was gone for some minutes.

"I guess the wolf's got him," said Perner.

Then they heard him coming three steps at a time.

"Bully!" said Van Dorn. "That means a check!"

"A check, sure as the world!" echoed Perner, joyfully.

Livingstone plunged in--his face flushed, his eyes shining, and an open letter in his hand.

"How much is it?" asked Van Dorn and Perner together.

Livingstone regarded them as if he did not understand.

"How much is what?" he asked--then added joyously: "Oh, yes--oh, no; it isn't from the 'Decade'--it's--it's a _letter_!"

Van Dorn and Perner rose grimly. Van Dorn's voice was very stern.

"And what do you mean," he demanded, "by looking as you do now over a letter--simply a _letter_?"

But Livingstone was in no wise daunted.

"Sit down, Van!" he shouted, "you and Perny! I've always wanted to tell you, and never could quite do it before. Sit down now, and I'll read you this letter! It's from the girl that sent in our first subscription. It's the best letter that was ever written--from the best girl that God ever made!"

XXI

THE LETTER LIVINGSTONE READ

MY OWN DEAR FOOLISH TRUE: I wonder if you think that because
we have all been asleep, dreaming wonderful dreams,--chasing
a rainbow, as you say,--that it is going to make any real
difference in our lives now that we are awake. It may seem
to make differences for a time--trifling differences in
trifling things; it may even give us something to look back
on and laugh about--something in the way of experience that
to such as Van and Perny and yourself may be of use as
material: but as to making any vital difference in whatever
makes life full and beautiful and worth having, and that is
love,--our love for each other, I mean,--why, True, the
very thought of it is so absurd that I try not to be
offended with you for even thinking it.

"Do you remember, True, long ago, when you first wrote me
about the paper, and I wrote you that, while I was glad for
your sake, I was not enthusiastic over the undertaking? That
was my real self, True, and was from the heart--the same
heart that is more enthusiastic now over the failure of it
all than it ever was over the beginning. If I was dazzled
for a time by the fair colors in the sky,--if I seized your
hand, and with you and Barry and Perny and Van and the
Colonel went racing down the wet meadows for the pot of
gold,--it does not mean that I am any the less glad to wake
up now and find that life is something better than all that;
that true life lies in doing conscientiously whatever we can
do best; that such dreams only serve to make our best work
better, and that still better than all of these is youth and
love--our youth, True, and our love for each other.

"No, True; I am not going to take back my promise. What do
you suppose I care for the few dollars you have lost? You
are no less good and noble--no less capable than before; and
as for the times, they will change--they always do. It
almost hurts me to realize that you could think I would ever
let you send me off even for what you considered my own
good. And I will not go, you see. You can't send me
away--unless, indeed, you do not want me any more, and then,
of course, you will say so, and I will go. Forgive me, True;
I do not mean that; but I must punish you the least bit
because--because I am a woman, I suppose.

"And now, True, about this draft for a thousand dollars
which I am sending back to you. It was right, of course, for
you to hold it as you did when you felt that it could do no
good, and it is better to have it now, when it will. I want
you to have it cashed at once, and let Van and Perny have
just whatever they need of it to tide them over, and I want
you to help the Colonel, too, if you can find him. Then you
are to take the rest of it, and, after using whatever you
need for yourself, go out and find the smallest and cheapest
little apartment in New York that we can live in. Furnish it
with the fewest things you can buy, and if there is any
money left, we will take a wedding trip on it just as far as
it will take us. Then we will come back to our little
apartment, you will go back to your beloved art, and we will
start really as Mr. Frisby did this time--without a dollar!
I have no preparation to make. Let me know when you are
coming and I will be ready.

"And now, True, good-by, with the happiest of New Years for
you and your good friends, who will, I am sure, be my good
friends, too, though I take you away from them in part. I
wonder if it would be right for me to say I am glad we
failed? I am afraid that, even if it is wrong, it is the
truth. I _know_ it is! There are many things that we could
do with wealth, but there are so many things so much sweeter
that we might not have; and oh, dear True, I am only a
woman, and selfish, after all.

"Always and always your

"DOROTHY.

"P.S. I almost forgot to thank you for the autograph volume.
You could not have pleased me more.

"DORRY."

XXII

THE BREAD LINE

Livingstone did not read quite all the letter. There were lines and paragraphs here and there that he entered, stumbled, and backed out of--taking at last a road around that was so evidently his own as to make Perner remark once:

"Don't revise, Stony; you can't improve on the original."

And when he had finished, none of the three spoke for at least a minute. Then Van Dorn said huskily:

"I knew she was a bully girl when she sent that subscription-- I could tell by the writing."

And Perner added:

"That subscription letter is mine, Stony. As acting manager of the 'Whole Family' I claim it."

Then, all at once, they had hold of Livingstone's hands, and when the three faced the fire again it reflected in their eyes with unusual brightness.

"I can't get it cashed to-night," Livingstone reflected presently; "it's too big."

"No; and you are not to get it cashed any night until you find that apartment," said Van Dorn.

Perner nodded.

"Van and I are grateful," he assented, "but with our few wants, and our marvelous talents, coupled with my ten years' business experience--"

"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 glass 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 God!" 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."