in gold. In a very short time the
badge-pin was all that was left of the Society; but to this day the
secret of the Society has never been disclosed. No one ever knew, or
will ever know, what the Greek letters stood for--not even the members
themselves.

The Boy was never a regular member of any fire-company, but almost as
long as the old Volunteer Fire Department existed, he was what was known
as a "Runner." He was attached, in a sort of brevet way, to "Pearl Hose
No. 28," and, later, to "11 Hook and Ladder." He knew all the fire
districts into which the city was then divided; his ear was always
alert, even in the St. John's Park days, for the sound of the
alarm-bell, and he ran to every fire at any hour of the day or night, up
to ten o'clock P.M. He did not do much when he got to the fire but stand
around and "holler." But once--a proud moment--he helped steer the
hook-and-ladder truck to a false alarm in Macdougal Street--and once--a
very proud moment, indeed--he went into a tenement-house, near Dr.
Thompson's church, in Grand Street, and carried two negro babies
down-stairs in his arms. There was no earthly reason why the babies
should not have been left in their beds; and the colored family did not
like it, because the babies caught cold! But The Boy, for once in his
life, tasted the delights of self-conscious heroism.

[Illustration: "MRS. ROBERTSON DESCENDED IN FORCE UPON THE
DEVOTED BAND"]

When The Boy, as a bigger boy, was not running to fires he was going to
theatres, the greater part of his allowance being spent in the
box-offices of Burton's Chambers Street house, of Brougham's Lyceum,
corner of Broome Street and Broadway, of Niblo's, and of Castle Garden.
There were no afternoon performances in those days, except now and then
when the Ravels were at Castle Garden; and the admission to pit and
galleries was usually two shillings--otherwise, twenty-five cents. His
first play, so far as he remembers, was "The Stranger," a play dismal
enough to destroy any taste for the drama, one would suppose, in any
juvenile mind. He never cared very much to see "The Stranger" again, but
nothing that was a play was too deep or too heavy for him. He never saw
the end of any of the more elaborate productions, unless his father took
him to the theatre (as once in a while he did), for it was a strict rule
of the house, until The Boy was well up in his teens, that he must be in
by ten o'clock. His father