A steady rain was beating against the windows, and a rising wind made itself heard in feeble wails as it turned the dark corners of the Tavern. Presently it was to howl and shriek, and, as the rain ceased, to rattle the window shutters and the ancient, creaking sign that hung out over the porch,--for on the wind tonight came the first chill touch of winter. "A fine night to be indoors," remarked Courtney in his most genial manner as he moved a rocking chair up to the fireplace and gallantly indicated to old Mrs. Nichols that it was intended for her. "Ain't you going out tonight, Court?" inquired Mr. Hatch. "Iron horses couldn't drag me out tonight," he replied. "Sit here, Mrs. Pollock. Doc, pull up that sofa for Miss Grady and Miss Miller. Let's have a chimney-corner symposium. Is symposium the right word, Miss Miller? Ah, I see it isn't. Well, I did my best. I could have got away with it in New York, but no chance here. And speaking of New York reminds me that at this very instant the curtains are going up and the lights are going down in half a hundred theatres,--and I don't mind confessing I'd like to be in one of them." "That's one thing I envy New York for," said Mrs. Pollock. "Hand me my knitting off the table, Lincoln, please. I love the theatre. I could go every night--" "You get tired of them after a little while, Maude," said Flora Grady, a trifle languidly. "Isn't that so, Mr. Thane?" "Quite," agreed Courtney. "You get fed up with 'em." "I remember once when I was in New York going six nights in succession, seeing all the best things on the boards at that time, and I give you my word," said Miss Grady, "they DID feed me up terribly." "I know just what you mean, Miss Grady," said Courtney, without cracking a smile. "One gets so bored with the best plays in town. What one really ought to do, you know, is to go to the worst ones." "I've always wanted to see 'The Blue Bird,'" said Miss Miller wistfully. "It's by Maeterlinck, Mr. Nichols." Old Mr. Nichols looked interested. "You don't say so," he ejaculated. "Give me a good minstrel show,--that's what I like. Haverly's or Barlow, Wilson, Primrose & West, or Billy Emerson's or--say, did you ever see Luke Schoolcraft? Well, sir, there was the funniest end man I ever see. There used to be another minstrel man named,--er--lemme see,--now what was that feller's name? It begin with L, I think--or maybe it was W. Now--lemme--think. Go on talkin', the rest of you. I'll think of his name before bedtime." Whereupon the ancient Mr. Nichols relapsed into a profound state of thought from which he did not emerge until Mr. Webster shook his shoulder some fifteen or twenty minutes later and informed him that if he got any worse Mrs. Nichols would be able to hear him, and then she couldn't go 'round telling people that he slept just like a baby.