#Meanwhile, back in the lobby the guys sat around grumpily discussing the wonderful food that would have been filling their bellies.

"Hey! I've got an idea," Anne paused, receiving everyone's attention. "I'm a fairly good cook and if there's anything in dat kitchen I'm sure dat I could whip somethin' up," she suggested.

Jack looked around expectantly, taking a pole with his eyes through the crowd that lounged about the room, "Well, it looks like we's up ta givin' it a try. Bad food is betta' den no food."

"Speak for yourself!" Jake groaned.

"Oh ye of little faith," Anne smiled, clapping her hands together with delight. Cooking had always been one of her favorite pass times during her times with Erik.

The thought of cooking brought Mr. Bridgefield to mind- what was he doing at that moment? How did he take the surprise of her just up and leaving? - I'm sure he's fine - Anne thought.

But then another soul came to mind-Spot. He would be arriving any minuet. But what about the snow? What if he had gotten lost in the blizzard on his way over? - Anne scolded herself for all of the what ifs that had been running through her mind. Spot Conlon was known for knowing all of the back ways and alleys of New York City by heart. He would be the last person to get lost.

The door flew open with a loud swish causing gasps to erupt from the room as a hunched back figure hobbled in. Snow whirled through the opened doorway turning Anne to chills.

"May we help you?" she asked, placing a hand upon the lump that sat so rigidly on the stranger's back. Anne let out a raspy sigh, leading the person over to the fire.

Jack shut the entry behind them, allowing the room to warm itself up again.

She sat the figure down comfortably in front of the fire ablaze, removing his snow-dampened shawl wrapped tightly around himself.

"Spot!" Anne gasped as the quivering Spot Conlon, shielding in damp clothed, bright purple lips sticking out puffily.

The sight of Spot didn't startle her near as much as the picture that stood beside him. What had appeared to be a hump was actually Pieboy.

Spot had carried him all of the way from the border to Duane Street, where he had come near to giving up hope of reaching the lodging house in the terribly confusing storm.

"Oh my Lord," Jack yelled shakily, running to his best friend's side. "Go get your blankets. Go on! All a ya!" he roared, as the boys moved hastily up to gather all of the garments.

Anne, Jack, and Spot remained at Pie's side. "I'm alright guys," Pie whispered feebly.

"You'll be even betta' when ya get fully warmed up," Anne forced a smile. She began to think to herself. Not a single thing had come to her mind about Pie's safety, but then, she managed to worry about Spot.

Spot and Jack had stood up from the floor and were talking in an undertone. Anne joined them, brushing the cinders from her dress.

"I found him buried in a couple a inches a snow ova' on Halls Ave. . If I had walked by much latah' he woulda' been gone," Spot whispered. Anne gently patted him on the cheek, muttering, "I'm gunna go make yall some soup. Be sure and wrap up Pie good and warm in dose blankets da boys bring down and den tell dem ta might as well make down ta sleep down here tanight. It will be much warmer down her by da fire."

Spot nodded, giving her a slight smile. "You wrap up too. You have such a chill about you," Anne muttered to Spot as she walked into the kitchen.