all the night before it had been snowing hard. New York lay buried
beneath over two feet of its cold white mantle, and with the gathering
dusk a fierce hurricane set in, proclaiming the approach of the terrible
blizzard which had been predicted.

On this afternoon, which was destined to be so memorable, two young men
were breasting the sleet and hail, which tore down Broadway with
demoniac glee, as though amused that the cable cars were stalled fully a
mile along the line, and the people were obliged to get out and walk,
facing the full fury of the elements, if they hoped to arrive at their
destinations that night.

It could easily be ascertained by the gray, waning light that both young
men were tall, broad-shouldered and handsome of face, bearing a
striking resemblance to one another.

They were seldom in each other's company, but those who saw them thus
jumped naturally to the conclusion that they were twin brothers; but
this was a great mistake; they were only cousins. One was Clinton
Kendale, whom everybody was speaking of as "the rage of New York," the
handsomest actor who had ever trod the metropolitan boards, the idol of
the matinee girls, and the greatest attraction the delighted managers
had gotten hold of for years.

His companion was of not much consequence, only Lester Armstrong,
assistant cashier in the great dry goods house of Marsh & Co., on upper
Broadway.

He had entered their employ as a cashboy; had grown to manhood in their
service, and he had no further hope for the future, save to remain in