"I hope he has as good a berth as that," the professor answered; "but I don't believe that Johnny Carroll would stay on the force long, even if he got the appointment. Do you remember how well he sang 'The Son of a Gamboleer'?" It was this question of the professor's which Robert White remembered after he had got off the coach and was walking towards Madison Square. Three young fellows, mere boys two of them, were staggering on just in front of him. They were arm in arm, in hope of a triplicate stability quite unattainable without more ballast than they carried, and they were singing the song Johnny Carroll had made his own in college. The wind was still sharpening, and the wooden signs which projected across the sidewalk here and there swung heavily as they felt its force. There were knots of eager young men and boys going to and fro before the brilliantly lighted porticos of the hotels. As White stepped aside to get out of the way of one of these groups, rather more hilarious than the others, he knocked into a man who was standing up against the glaring window of a restaurant. The man was thin and pinched; his face was clean-shaven and blue; his clothes were threadbare; his attitude was as though he were pressing close to the glass in the hope of a reflected warmth. "I beg your pardon," cried White. The man turned stiffly. "It's of no con--" he began, then he saw White's face in the bright light which streamed across the sidewalk. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, and then turned away. The moment had been enough for White to recognize him. "Johnny Carroll!" he called. The man continued to move away. White overtook him in two strides, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Johnny!" he said again. The man faced about and answered doubtfully, "Well, what do you want?" "Is this really you, Johnny Carroll?" asked White, as he held out his hand. "Oh yes," said the other, "it's Johnny Carroll--and you are Bob White." White's hand was still extended. After a long pause his classmate took it. White was shocked at the chill of Carroll's fingers. "Why, man," he cried, "you are cold." "Well," the other answered, simply, "why not? It isn't the first time." Then, after a swift glance at White's face, he turned his own away and said, "I'm hungry, too, if you want to know." "So am I," said White, cordially. "I was going to have my Thanksgiving dinner alone. Will you join me, Johnny?" "Do you mean it?" asked the other. "Why shouldn't we dine together?" White responded, setting off briskly and putting his arm through his classmate's. "Our team has won to-day, you know--eighteen to nothing; we'll celebrate the victory." "Where are you taking me?" inquired Johnny, uneasily. "To the College Club, of course," answered White. "We'll--" "I mustn't go there," said Johnny, stopping short. "I couldn't face them now. I--oh, I couldn't!" "Very well, then," White agreed. "Where shall we go? What do you say to Delmonico's?"