Yes, the fifth story of that old warehouse asserts itself like a diamond pin in a soiled and rumpled scarf, for the mansard roof with its galvanized-iron trimmings, which once made it appear no more respectable than it ought to be, has given place to a long, well-glazed, dormer window, finished on the outside with heavy timbering and rough plaster work, and fitted with swinging sashes through whose many panes the southern sun may shine without let or hinderance, save when, in summer months, a wide, striped awning parries the hottest rays. In every sense of the word it is a great window, and--as I and many another officer of the Third can testify--the comfortable, cushioned seat which runs its entire length has many attractions for a lazy, tobacco-loving man. Above the window, and crowning glory of all, a straight and slender spar points skyward, from which, on sunny days, floats a great, white flag, bearing in mid-field the blue Maltese cross, on which the figure "3" is displayed: for the present Third is the successor of a "fighting regiment," and we proudly preserve the old corps' device and the traditions that go with it.
So much for the _outside_ of our nightly gathering-place.
Within-doors the effect is even more surprising, for the four long and dusty flights of dimly-lighted stairs give no hint of the cheery quarters up to which they lead the way. Once they had their termination in a loft--a bare, rough, unfinished loft; but we have changed all that, and now it would be hard to find at any club in town a cosier spot. Thirty feet from side to side the great room stretches, and twice that from front to rear; ample room, yet none too much for our needs, for our friends are many, and the times are not infrequent when we find even these quarters crowded. At the southern end, almost from wall to wall, extends the long window, with its softly cushioned seat--a vantage point that never lacks for tenants. Midway of one side wall the great fireplace yawns, waiting for the sharp, cold nights when the load of logs upon its iron fire-dogs shall be called upon to send the smoke wreathing and curling up the chimney's broad and blackened throat.
Above the wide mantel-shelf are crossed two faded colors, hanging motionless from their staves, save when some stray current of air idly stirs their tarnished, golden fringes: "Old Glory," with its stripes and star-sown field, is one; the other, the white banner of the Commonwealth, beneath whose crest the ever-watchful Indian stands guard. In a long, glittering row, below the mantel, hang the polished pewter mugs, swinging expectantly, each upon its hook, and seeming to say--as they flash back the sunbeams, or reflect the light of the fire below--"Come, fill us, empty us: and have done with the worries of the day!"