“Gold, ain’t it?”

“I’m glad winter’s over.”

“Looks as though it might rain.”

The motley company had increased to ten.  One or two knew each other and conversed.  Others stood off a few feet, not wishing to be in the crowd and yet not counted out.  They were peevish, crusty, silent, eying nothing in particular and moving their feet.

There would have been talking soon, but the soldier gave them no chance.  Counting sufficient to begin, he came forward.

“Beds, eh, all of you?”

There was a general shuffle and murmur of approval.

“Well, line up here.  I’ll see what I can do.  I haven’t a cent myself.”

They fell into a sort of broken, ragged line.  One might see, now, some of the chief characteristics by contrast.  There was a wooden leg in the line.  Hats were all drooping, a group that would ill become a second-hand Hester Street basement collection.  Trousers were all warped and frayed at the bottom and coats worn and faded.  In the glare of the store lights, some of the faces looked dry and chalky; others were red with blotches and puffed in the cheeks and under the eyes; one or two were rawboned and reminded one of railroad hands.  A few spectators came near, drawn by the seemingly conferring group, then more and more, and quickly there was a pushing, gaping crowd.  Some one in the line began to talk.

“Silence!” exclaimed the captain.  “Now, then, gentlemen, these men are without beds.  They have to have some place to sleep tonight.  They can’t lie out in the streets.  I need twelve cents to put one of them to bed.  Who will give it to me?”

No reply.

“Well, we’ll have to wait here, boys, until some one does.  Twelve cents isn’t so very much for one man.”

“Here’s fifteen,” exclaimed a young man, peering forward with strained eyes.  “It’s all I can afford.”

“All right.  Now I have fifteen.  Step out of the line,” and seizing one by the shoulder, the captain marched him off a little way and stood him up alone.

Coming back, he resumed his place and began again.

“I have three cents left.  These men must be put to bed somehow.  There are”—­counting—­“one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve men.  Nine cents more will put the next man to bed; give him a good, comfortable bed for the night.  I go right along and look after that myself.  Who will give me nine cents?”

One of the watchers, this time a middle-aged man, handed him a five-cent piece.

“Now, I have eight cents.  Four more will give this man a bed.  Come, gentlemen.  We are going very slow this evening.  You all have good beds.  How about these?”

“Here you are,” remarked a bystander, putting a coin into his hand.

“That,” said the captain, looking at the coin, “pays for two beds for two men and gives me five on the next one.  Who will give me seven cents more?”