A moment later, they all filed to another part of the building, where hundreds were gathered to watch the old year out and the new in, and where music soon made them forget the subject they had been discussing.
Twenty minutes of the year was left. In five minutes Wilson Jacobs would call his sister, and together they would watch. But the new year would bring no joy to their hearts. It meant that a great struggle would end in failure. He watched the clock by the minute. It was now eleven forty-one. Nineteen minutes left.
Presently he heard a light footfall. He looked up and saw his sister coming toward him. She looked tired and worn; the strain she had been laboring under was plainly evident in her face.
She came straight to him. What was it that made her regard him as she did. Had she seen, in these last minutes, how much it hurt him to have to pronounce his great effort a failure. She advanced to where he sat, and impulsively bent over and kissed him. As she raised up, both pairs of eyes saw the clock, and both pair of lips murmured:
"Eighteen minutes left." And then his lips said:
"Yes, sister, eighteen minutes left to raise twenty-five thousand dollars for the Y.M.C.A. for our people." He lowered his head, and sighed long and deeply. She placed her hands about his forehead, and let them slip back over his hair.
"My poor brother, my poor brother!" And then, for the first time she observed a package. With womanly curiosity, she inquired:
"What is this, Wilson?" and pointed toward it. He sat up quickly as though he had been asleep.
"That," he replied, blinking. "Why, I don't know. I declare. I didn't know it was there." He was thoroughly awake now, as well as curious.