"Art!" he yelled. "I'm going for the sake of the coffee!"
The line that began on Tenth Street had made the turn on Broadway and reached almost to Grace Church when they arrived. The men stood motionless, huddled back into their scanty collars, their heads bent forward to shield their faces from the sharp, flying ice. Strong electric light shone on them. The driving sleet grew on their hats and shoulders. Those who had just arrived found it even colder standing still. Van Dorn's teeth were rattling.
"Do you suppose there's always enough to go round?" he asked of Perner, who stood ahead of him.
Talking was not pleasant, but the waif behind him answered:
"Wasn't last night. I was on the end of the line and didn't git no coffee. Guess there'll be enough to-night, though, 'cause it's New Year."
"If they don't have coffee to-night I'll die," shivered Perner.
Livingstone stood ahead of Perner in the line.
"If it stops with me I'll give you mine," he said. "I'm not hungry, nor cold, either."
The waif in front of him and the waif behind Van Dorn both made an effort to see Livingstone.
"What are you doing here, then?" growled the man behind. He saw that the three ahead of him were better dressed than the others and regarded them suspiciously. "What did you fellers come here for, anyway?"