midnight
My friend was a graduate of the Conservatoire , an ex-stroke , crew of ' 91 , owned a pair of shears which he used twice a year in the vaults of a downtown bank , and breakfasted every day at twelve -- but none of these things had spoiled him . `` Do n't worry , '' he said ; `` put a prop under your piano-lid and bring me a chair . I 'll work the ivories for you . '' He played till midnight , drank his free beers between each selection , his face as grave as a judge except when he would wink at me out of the corner of his eye to show his intense enjoyment of the whole situation . You can judge of its effect on the audience when I tell you that one young girl in a pink shirt-waist was so overcome with emotion and so sorry for the sad young man who had to earn his living in any such way , that she laid a ten-cent piece on the piano within reach of my friend 's fingers . The smile of intense gratitude which permeated his face -- a `` thank-God-you-have-saved-me-from-starvation '' smile , was part of the evening 's enjoyment . He wears the dime now on his watch-chain ; he says it is the only money he ever earned by his music ; to which one of his club-friends added , `` Or in your life . ''