"I forgot to say that Hartman often dines there, and I draw my own
conclusions," continued West. "Now about this chicken, half of it is for
Braith and myself, and half for Colette, but of course you will help me
eat my part because I'm not hungry." "Neither am I," began Braith, but Trent, with a smile at the pinched faces
before him, shook his head saying, "What nonsense! You know I'm never
hungry!" West hesitated, reddened, and then slicing off Braith's portion, but not
eating any himself, said good-night, and hurried away to number 470 rue
Serpente, where lived a pretty girl named Colette, orphan after Sedan, and
Heaven alone knew where she got the roses in her cheeks, for the siege
came hard on the poor. "That chicken will delight her, but I really believe she's in love with
West," said Trent. Then walking over to the bed: "See here, old man, no
dodging, you know, how much have you left?" The other hesitated and flushed. "Come, old chap," insisted Trent. Braith drew a purse from beneath his bolster, and handed it to his friend
with a simplicity that touched him. "Seven sons," he counted; "you make me tired! Why on earth don't you come
to me? I take it d----d ill, Braith! How many times must I go over the same
thing and explain to you that because I have money it is my duty to share
it, and your duty and the duty of every American to share it with me? You
can't get a cent, the city's blockaded, and the American Minister has his
hands full with all the German riff-raff and deuce knows what! Why don't
you act sensibly?" "I--I will, Trent, but it's an obligation that perhaps I can never even in
part repay, I'm poor and--"

"Of course you'll pay me! If I were a usurer I would take your talent for
security. When you are rich and famous--"

"Don't, Trent--"

"All right, only no more monkey business." He slipped a dozen gold pieces into the purse, and tucking it again under
the mattress smiled at Braith. "How old are you?" he demanded. "Sixteen." Trent laid his hand lightly on his friend's shoulder. "I'm twenty-two, and
I have the rights of a grandfather as far as you are concerned. You'll do
as I say until you're twenty-one." "The siège will be over then, I hope," said Braith, trying to laugh, but
the prayer in their hearts: "How long, O Lord, how long!" was answered by
the swift scream of a shell soaring among the storm-clouds of that
December night. II

West, standing in the doorway of a house in the rue Serpentine, was
speaking angrily. He said he didn't care whether Hartman liked it or not;
he was telling him, not arguing with him. "You call yourself an American!" he sneered; "Berlin and hell are full of
that kind of American. You come loafing about Colette with your pockets
stuffed with white bread and beef, and a bottle of wine at thirty francs
and you can't really afford to give a dollar to the American Ambulance and
Public Assistance, which Braith does, and he's half starved!" Hartman retreated to the curbstone, but West followed him, his face like a
thunder-cloud. "Don't you dare to call yourself a countryman of mine," he
growled,--"no,--nor an artist either! Artists don't worm themselves into
the service of the Public Defence where they do nothing but feed like rats
on the people's food! And I'll tell you now," he continued dropping his
voice, for Hartman had started as though stung, "you might better keep
away from that Alsatian Brasserie and the smug-faced thieves who haunt it. You know what they do with suspects!" "You lie, you hound!" screamed Hartman, and flung the bottle in his hand
straight at West's face. West had him by the throat in a second, and
forcing him against the dead wall shook him wickedly. "Now you listen to me," he muttered, through his clenched teeth. "You are
already a suspect and--I swear--I believe you are a paid spy! It isn't my
business to detect such vermin, and I don't intend to denounce you, but
understand this! Colette don't like you and I can't stand you, and if I
catch you in this street again I'll make it somewhat unpleasant. Get out,
you sleek Prussian!" Hartman had managed to drag a knife from his pocket, but West tore it from
him and hurled him into the gutter. A gamin who had seen this burst into a
peal of laughter, which rattled harshly in the silent street. Then
everywhere windows were raised and rows of haggard faces appeared
demanding to know why people should laugh in the starving city. "Is it a victory?" murmured one. "Look at that," cried West as Hartman picked himself up from the pavement,
"look! you miser! look at those faces!" But Hartman gave _him_ a look
which he never forgot, and walked away without a word. Trent, who suddenly
appeared at the corner, glanced curiously at West, who merely nodded
toward his door saying, "Come in; Fallowby's upstairs." "What are you doing with that knife?" demanded Fallowby, as he and Trent
entered the studio. West looked at his wounded hand, which still clutched the knife, but
saying, "Cut myself by accident," tossed it into a corner and washed the
blood from his fingers. Fallowby, fat and lazy, watched him without comment, but Trent, half
divining how things had turned, walked over to Fallowby smiling. "I've a bone to pick with you!" he said. "Where is it? I'm hungry," replied Fallowby with affected eagerness, but
Trent, frowning, told him to listen. "How much did I advance you a week ago?" "Three hundred and eighty francs," replied the other, with a squirm of
contrition. "Where is it?" Fallowby began a series of intricate explanations, which were soon cut
short by Trent. "I know; you blew it in;--you always blow it in. I don't care a rap what
you did before the siege: I know you are rich and have a right to dispose
of your money as you wish to, and I also know that, generally speaking, it
is none of my business. But _now_ it is my business, as I have to supply
the funds until you get some more, which you won't until the siege is
ended one way or another. I wish to share what I have, but I won't see it
thrown out of the window. Oh, yes, of course I know you will reimburse me,
but that isn't the question; and, anyway, it's the opinion of your
friends, old man, that you will not be worse off for a little abstinence
from fleshly pleasures. You are positively a freak in this famine-cursed
city of skeletons!" "I _am_ rather stout," he admitted. "Is it true you are out of money?" demanded Trent. "Yes, I am," sighed the other. "That roast sucking pig on the rue St. Honoré,--is it there yet?" continued Trent. "Wh--at?" stammered the feeble one. "Ah--I thought so! I caught you in ecstasy before that sucking pig at
least a dozen times!" Then laughing, he presented Fallowby with a roll of twenty franc pieces
saying: "If these go for luxuries you must live on your own flesh," and
went over to aid West, who sat beside the wash-basin binding up his hand. West suffered him to tie the knot, and then said: "You remember,
yesterday, when I left you and Braith to take the chicken to Colette."