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So he drove up to the house on the corner of Greenfield Court and began to examine it. It was an old-fashioned house; and in its time, when the old families inhabited the downtown streets, it had been an aristocratic mansion. The lower floor was occupied by a butcher’s shop, and in the front room, where an old family had once entertained its guests, cheap roasts were being dispensed to the keepers of low boarding houses. The antique fireplace and the ancient mantelpiece were forced to keep company with meat blocks and butchers’ cleavers. Above this were Henry Vail’s rooms, where the old chambers had been carefully restored; and above these the third story and attic were crowded with tenants. But everywhere the house had traces of its former gentility.

“Good!” said Charley; “Vail preserved his taste for the antique to the last.”

“Perdue, what do you think of this for a club-house?”

“Just the thing if you can get it. Ten chances to one it belongs to some saloonkeeper who wouldn’t rent it for purposes of civilization.”

“Oh, I’ll get it! Such men are always susceptible to the influence of money, and I’m sure this is the spot, or Vail wouldn’t have chosen it.”

And with that Charley and the delighted Perdue drove to the house of Charley’s business agent, the same who had been his father’s manager.

“Mr. Johnston,” said Charley, “I don’t like to ask you to work on Christmas, but I want you to find out to-day, if you can, who owns No. 164 Huckleberry Street.”

“Do you mean the house Mr. Vail lived in?”

“Yes, that’s it. Look it up for me, if you can.”

“Oh, that’s not hard. The house belongs to you.”

“To me! I didn’t know I had anything there.”

“Yes, that house was your grandfather’s, and your mother lived there in her childhood, and your father wouldn’t sell it. It brought good rent, and I have never bothered you about it.”

“And you let Harry pay me rent?”

“Well, sir, he asked me not to mention to you that he was in your house. He liked to pay his own way. Strange man, that Mr. Vail! I heard from another tenant last night that he is dead.”

“Perdue,” said Charley, “I wish you would go down there to-day and find out what each tenant in that house will sell his lease for and give possession immediately. Give them a note to Johnston stating the amount, and I want Johnston to give them something over the amount agreed on. I must be on good terms with Huckleberry Street.”

Johnston wondered what whim Charley had in his head. “Baron Bertram” completed his negotiations for the leases of the tenants, and then went off and drank Charley’s health in so many saloons that he went home entirely drunk, and the next morning was ashamed to see Vanderhuyn. But Charley never even looked a disapproval at him. He had learned from Vail how easy it is for reformers to throw their influence on the wrong side in such a life-and-death struggle as that of Perdue’s. In the year that followed he had to forgive him many more than seven times. But Perdue grew stronger in the sunlight of Vanderhuyn’s steady friendship.

They had a great time opening the club on New-Year’s Eve. There was a banquet, not quite in Delmonico’s style, nor quite so fine as those at the Hasheesh; but still it was a grand affair to the dilapidated wrecks that Charley gathered about him. Charley was president, and Vail’s portrait hung over the mantelpiece, with this inscription beneath, “The Founder of the Club.” Most of Charley’s fine paintings were here, and the rooms were indeed brilliant. And if lemonade and root beer and good strong coffee could have made people drunk, there would not have been one sober man there. But Ben delighted “the old lady” by going home sober, owning it was better than the free-and-easy, and his friends all agreed with him. To Charley, as he looked round on them, this was a far grander moment than when, one week before, he had presided over the gay company at the Hasheesh. Here were good cheer, laughter, funny stories, and a New-Year’s Eve worth the having. The gray eyes of the portrait over the antique mantel-piece seemed happy and satisfied.

“Gentlemen,” said Charley, “I rise to propose the memory of our founder,” and he proceeded to set forth the virtues of Henry Vail. If there had been a reporter present he could have inserted in parenthesis, at several places in Charley’s speech, the words, “great applause”; and if he had reported its effect exactly, he would, at several other places, have inserted the words “great sensation,” which, in reporter’s phrase, expresses any great emotion, especially one which makes an audience weep. In conclusion, Charley lifted his glass of lemonade, and said, “To the memory of Henry Vail, the Founder of the Christmas Club.”

“Christmas!” said Baron Bertram, “a good name! For this man,” pointing to Charley, “receiveth sinners and eateth with them” (applause).

I have done. Dear friends, a Merry Christmas to you all!