This unique individual was no less than an ex-soldier turned religionist, who, having suffered the whips and privations of our peculiar social system, had concluded that his duty to the God which he conceived lay in aiding his fellow-man.  The form of aid which he chose to administer was entirely original with himself.  It consisted of securing a bed for all such homeless wayfarers as should apply to him at this particular spot, though he had scarcely the wherewithal to provide a comfortable habitation for himself.  Taking his place amid this lightsome atmosphere, he would stand, his stocky figure cloaked in a great cape overcoat, his head protected by a broad slouch hat, awaiting the applicants who had in various ways learned the nature of his charity.  For a while he would stand alone, gazing like any idler upon an ever fascinating scene.  On the evening in question, a policeman passing saluted him as “captain,” in a friendly way.  An urchin who had frequently seen him before, stopped to gaze.  All others took him for nothing out of the ordinary, save in the matter of dress, and conceived of him as a stranger whistling and idling for his own amusement.

As the first half-hour waned, certain characters appeared.  Here and there in the passing crowds one might see, now and then, a loiterer edging interestedly near.  A slouchy figure crossed the opposite corner and glanced furtively in his direction.  Another came down Fifth Avenue to the corner of Twenty-sixth Street, took a general survey, and hobbled off again.  Two or three noticeable Bowery types edged along the Fifth Avenue side of Madison Square, but did not venture over.  The soldier, in his cape overcoat, walked a short line of ten feet at his corner, to and fro, indifferently whistling.

As nine o’clock approached, some of the hubbub of the earlier hour passed.  The atmosphere of the hotels was not so youthful.  The air, too, was colder.  On every hand curious figures were moving—­watchers and peepers, without an imaginary circle, which they seemed afraid to enter—­a dozen in all.  Presently, with the arrival of a keener sense of cold, one figure came forward.  It crossed Broadway from out the shadow of Twenty-sixth Street, and, in a halting, circuitous way, arrived close to the waiting figure.  There was something shamefaced or diffident about the movement, as if the intention were to conceal any idea of stopping until the very last moment.  Then suddenly, close to the soldier, came the halt.

The captain looked in recognition, but there was no especial greeting.  The newcomer nodded slightly and murmured something like one who waits for gifts.  The other simply motioned to-ward the edge of the walk.

“Stand over there,” he said.

By this the spell was broken.  Even while the soldier resumed his short, solemn walk, other figures shuffled forward.  They did not so much as greet the leader, but joined the one, sniffling and hitching and scraping their feet.