$20 REWARD
TO A COMPETENT PIANO PLAYER
This he stuck up on the music-rack, and though the inscription glared at the frequenters of the room until midnight, it failed to draw any musician from his shell.
So the merrymaking went on; the hilarity grew apace. Men danced and sang to the music of the squeaky fiddle and worn-out guitar as the jolly crowd within tried to drown the howling of the storm without. Suddenly they became aware of the presence of a white-haired man, crouching near the fireplace. His garments—such as were left—were wet with melting snow, and he had a half-starved, half-crazed expression. He held his thin, trembling hands toward the fire, and the light of the blazing wood made them almost transparent. He looked about him once in a while as if in search of something, and his presence cast such a chill over the place that gradually the sound of the revelry was hushed, and it seemed that this waif of the storm had brought in with him all the gloom and coldness of the warring elements. Goskin, mixing up a cup of hot egg-nogg, advanced and remarked cheerily:
"Here, stranger, brace up! This is the real stuff."
The man drained the cup, smacked his lips, and seemed more at home.
"Been prospecting, eh? Out in the mountains—caught in the storm? Lively night, this!"
"Pretty bad," said the man.
"Must feel pretty dry?"
The man looked at his streaming clothes and laughed, as if Goskin's remark was a sarcasm.
"How long out?"