he　Academy　to　the　doors。
  These　two　arrivals　nodded　to　Jack　and　Fred；　Waller　　cursing　the　weather　as　he　hung　up　his　coat　on　a　peg　behind　the　door　（unnecessary　formalities　of　every　kind；　including　the　shaking　of　hands　and　asking　after　each　other's　health；　were　dispensed　with　by　men　who　saw　each　other　several　times　a　day　at　their　different　haunts）；　and　Simmons；　without　stopping　to　take　off　his　wet　coat；　flung　his　hat　on　the　divan；　crossed　the　room；　and　seated　himself　at　the　piano。
  〃Went　this　way；　Waller；　didn't　it？〃　said　Simmons　striking　the　keys；　continuing　the　conversation　the　two　had　evidently　had　on　the　stairs。　〃Never　heard　Parepa　　in　better　voice。　She　filled　every　corner　of　the　house。　Crug　told　me　he　was　up　in　Africa　in　the　back　row　and　never　missed　a　note。　Do　you　remember　this？〃　and　the　musician's　fingers　again　slipped　over　the　keys；　and　one　of　the　great　singer's　trills　rippled　through　the　room；　to　which　Waller　nodded　approvingly；　　mopping　his　wet　face　with　his　handkerchief　as　he　listened。
  The　opening　and　shutting　of　the　door；　the　stamping　of　feet；　the　general　imprecations　hurled　at　the　climate；　　and　the　scattering　of　wet　snow　and　rain…drops　about　the　entrance　became　constant。　Crug　bustled　ina　short；　thick…set；　rosy…cheeked　young　fellow　in　a　black　mackintosh　and　a　white　silk　mufflera　'cellist　of　repute；　who　had　spent　two　years　at　the　conservatoire；　　and　who　had　once　played　for　Eugenie　at　one　of　her　musicales　at　the　Tuileries；　a　fact　he　never　let　you　forget。　And　close　behind　him　came　Watson；　the　landscape…painter；　who　had　had　two　pictures　accepted　by　the　Royal　Academyone　of　them　hung　on　the　line；　a　great　honor　for　an　American；　and　after　them　blue…eyed；　round…faced　Munson；　a　pupil　of　Kaulbach；　and　late　from　Munich；　as　well　as　Harry　Stedman；　Post；　the　art…critic；　and　one　or　two　others。
  Each　man　as　he　entered　divested　himself　of　his　wet　garments；　warmed　his　hands　at　the　blazing　grate…　fire；　and；　reaching　over　the　long　table；　picked　up　a　clay　or　corn…cob　pipe；　stuffing　the　bowl　full　of　tobacco　from　a　cracked　Japanese　pot　that　stood　on　the　mantel。　　Then　striking　a　match　he　settled　himself　into　the　nearest　chair；　joining　in　the　general　talk　or　smoking　　quietly；　listening　to　what　was　being　said　about　him。　Now　and　then　one　would　walk　to　the　window；　raise　the　sash；　uncork　a　bottle　of　beer　where　Fred　had　placed　it；　empty　its　contents　into　one　of　the　mugs；　and　resume　his　seatmug　in　one　hand；　pipe　in　the　other。
  Up　to　this　time　no　work　had　been　done；　the　courtesies　of　the　club　permitting　none　to　begin　until　the　member　whose　night　it　was　had　arrived。
  As　the　half…hour　slipped　away　the　men　began　to　grow　restless。
  〃If　it's　Horn's　night　why　the　devil　doesn't　he　come；　Fred？〃　asked　Waller；　in　a　querulous　tone。　Although　　the　great　sheep…painter　had　lost　his　sobriquet　since　the　old　days；　he　had　never　parted　with　his　right　to　growl。
  〃He'll　be　here；〃　cried　Simmons　from　his　seat　by　the　piano。　His　fingers　were　still　rippling　gently　over　the　keys；　although　he　had　stopped　once　just　long　enough　to　strip　off　his　wet　overcoat。　〃I　met　him　at　Margaret　Grant's　this　afternoon。　She　had　a　little　tea。〃
  〃There　every　afternoon；　isn't　he；　Simmons？〃　asked　Munson；　who　was　smoking　quietly：
  〃Shouldn't　wonder；〃　came　the　response　between　the　trills。
  〃How's　that　affair　coming　on？〃　came　a　voice　out　of　the　tobacco…smoke。
  〃Same　old　way；〃　answered　someone　at　the　lower　end　of　the　table〃still　waiting　for　the　spondulix。〃
  〃Seen　her　last　picture？〃　remarked　Watson；　knocking　the　ashes　from　his　pipe。　〃The　one　she　scooped　the　medal　with？〃
  〃Yes。　Rouser；　isn't　it？〃　called　out　Waller。　〃Best　thing　she　has　done　yet。　She's　a　great　woman。　Hello！　there　he　is！　This　is　a　pretty　time　for　him　to　put　in　an　appearance！〃
  The　door　opened　and　Oliver　walked　in；　a　wet　umbrella　　in　one　hand；　his　coat…collar　turned　up；　his　mustache　　beaded　with　melted　snow…drops。
  〃What's　it　doing　outside；　Ollie；　raining　cats　and　dogs？〃　Jack　called　out。
  〃No；　going　to　clear　up。　It's　stopped　snowing　and　getting　colder。　Oh；　what　a　night！　I　love　a　storm　like　this；　it　sets　my　blood　tingling。　Sorry　to　keep　you　waiting；　gentlemen；　but　I　couldn't　help　it。　It　won't　make　any　difference；　I　can't　begin；　anyway。　Bianchi　won't　be　here　for　an　hour。　Just　met　him　on　the　street　he's　going　to　bring　a　guest；　he　says。〃
  〃Who's　he　going　to　bring？〃　shouted　Simmons；　who　had　risen　from　his　seat　at　the　piano；　and　was　now　sorting　out　some　sheets　of　music　that　Fred　had　just　laid　on　its　top。
  〃He　won't　tell；　says　it's　a　surprise；〃　answered　Oliver；　slipping　off　his　coat。
  〃A　surprise；　is　it？〃　grumbled　Waller。　〃I'll　bet　it's　some　greasy　foreigner。〃　He　had　left　Simmons's　side　and　was　now　standing　by　the　mantel；　filling　a　pipe　from　the　bowl。　〃Bianchi　has　always　got　a　lot　of　cranks　about　him。〃
  Oliver　hung　his　wet　coat　among　the　row　of　garments　　lining　the　wallhe　had　come　twice　as　far　as　the　otherscrowded　his　dripping　umbrella　into　a　broken　Chinese　jar　that　did　duty　as　a　rack；　and；　catching　　sight　of　the　canvas；　walked　toward　the　easel　holding　　the　thirty　by　forty。
  〃Where　did　you　get　it；　Freddie？〃　he　said；　putting　his　arms　around　the　shoulders　of　his　old　chum　and　dragging　him　toward　the　easel　for　a　closer　inspection　of　the　grain　of　the　canvas。
  〃Snedecor's〃
  〃Just　right；　old　man。　Much　obliged；〃　and　he　felt　the　grain　of　the　cloth　with　his　thumb。　〃Got　a　ruff？〃　and　he　glanced　about　him。　〃Oh；　yes；　I　see。　Thanks。〃
  The　men；　now　that　Oliver　had　arrived；　drew　up　around　the　long　table。　Some　began　setting　their　palettes；　others　picked　out；　from　the　common　stock　before　them；　the　panels；　canvases；　china　plates；　or　sheets　of　paper；　which；　under　their　deft　touches；　were　so　soon　to　be　covered　with　dainty　bits　of　color。
  It　was　in　many　ways　a　remarkable　club。　Most　of　its　members　had　already　achieved　the　highest　rank　in　their　several　professions　and　outside　the　walls　of　this　eyrie　were　known　as　earnest；　thoughtful　men；　envied　and　sought　after　by　those　who　respected　their　aims　and　successes。
  Inside　these　cosey　rooms　all　restraint　was　laid　aside　and　each　man's　personality　and　temperament　expressed　itself　without　reserve。　Harry　Stedman；　who；　perhaps；　had　been　teaching　a　class　of　students　all　the　morning　in　the　new　building　of　the　National　Academy　of　Design；　each　one　of　whom　hung　upon　his　words　as　if　he　had　been　inspired；　could　be　found　here　a　few　hours　later　joining　in　a　chorus　with　a　voice　loud　enough　to　rattle　every　mug　on　the　table。
  Waller；　who　doubtless　that　same　night；　had　been　the　bright　particular　star　at　some　smart　dinner　uptown；　　and　whose　red　ribbon　had　added　such　eclat　to　the　occasion；　and　whose　low　voice　and　quiet　manners　　and　correct；　conventional　speeches　had　so　charmed　and　captivated　the　lady　on　his　right；　would；　when　once　in　this　room；　sit　astride　some　chair；　a　pipe　in　one　hand；　a　mug　of　beer　in　the　other。　Here　he　would　discuss　with　Simmons　or　Jack　or　Oliver　his　preference　of　Chopin　over　Beethoven；　or　the　difference　　between　Parepa…Rosa　and　Jenny　Lind；　or　any　topic　which　had　risen　out　of　the　common　talk；　and　all　too　with　a　grotesqueness　of　speech　and　manner　that　would　have　frozen　his　hostess　of　the　dinner…table　dumb　with　astonishment　could　she　have　seen　him。
  And　so　with　the　others。　Each　man　was　frankly　himself　and　in　undress　uniform　when　under　Fred's　skylight；　or　when　the　club　was　enjoying　any　one　of　its　various　festivals　and　functions。
  Oliver's　election　into　the　organization　had；　therefore；　　been　to　him　one　of　the　greatest　honors　he　had　received　since　his　skill　as　a　painter　had　been　recognized　　by　his　fellowsan　honor　not　conferred　upon　him　because　he　had　been　one　of　the　earlier　members　of　the　old　Union　Square　organization；　many　of　whom　had　been　left　out；　but　entirely　because　he　was　not　only　the　best　of　fellows；　but　among　the　best　of　painters　　as　well。　An　honor　too；　which　brought　with　it　the　possibility　of　a　certain　satisfying　of　his　tastes。　Only　once　before　had　he　found　an　atmosphere　so　congenial　　and　that　was　when　the　big　hemlocks　that　he　loved　stood　firm　and　silent　about　himcompanions　in　a　wilderness　that　rested　him。
  The　coming　together　of　such　a　body　of　men　representing；　　as　they　did；　the　choicest　the　city　afforded　in　art；　literature　and　music；　had　been　as　natural　and　unavoidable　as　the　concentration　of　a　mass　of　iron　filings　toward　a　magnet。　That　insatiable　hunger　of　the　Bohemian；　that　craving　of　the　craftsman　for　men　of　his　kind；　had　at　last　overpowered　　them；　and　the　meetings　in　Fred's　studio　were　the　inevitable　result。
  Many　of　these　devotees　of　the　arts　had　landed　on　the　barren　shores　of　Americabarren　of　even　the　slightest　trace　of　that　life　they　had　learned　to　love　so　well　in　the　Quartier　Latin　in　Paris　and　in　the　Rathskellers　of　Munich　and　Dusseldorfand　had　wandered　about　in　the　uncongenial　atmosphere　of　the　commonplace　until　this　retreat　had　been　opened　to　them。　Some；　like　Fred　Stone　and　Jack　Bedford；　who　had　struggled　on　through　the　war；　too　much　occupied　　in　the　whirl　of　their　life　to　miss　at　the　time　the　associations　of　men　of　similar　tastes；　had　eagerly　grasped　the　opportunity　when　it　came；　and　others；　like　Oliver；　who　had　had　all　they　could　do　to　get　their　three　meals　during　the　day　and　a　shelter　for　the　night；　had　hardly　been　conscious　of　what　they　wanted　until　the　cl