Anton Von Barwig is compelled to pawn his favorite violin.Anton Von Barwig is compelled to pawn his favorite violin.
Anton Von Barwig is compelled to pawn his favorite violin.Anton Von Barwig is compelled to pawn his favorite violin.
His duties were simple enough in their way; he extemporised incidental music on the piano or violin while the curios were being exhibited, and during the progress of the little abbreviated dramas that were played by the troupe of actors in the theatre upstairs. It did not add to Von Barwig's happiness that Mr. Costello always insisted upon calling the attention of the audience to the special music as played by "ProfessorAn-toneof Germany, Europe," and would point at him and start clapping until the audience gave him the round of applause that he felt the professor was entitled to. To Von Barwig's astonishment and embarrassment, Costello took a violent fancy to him, and would talk to him whenever a chance offered itself.
"Professor," he would say, "you're different from the gang that hangs around here. I like to talk to you; it does me good. You don't never try to give me no songs and dances about how much more you're worth than I'm paying you, and how much more you know than the day professor. You ain't forever talkin' about yourself."
Von Barwig accepted this praise philosophically. He didn't in the least understand it, but he felt that Mr. Costello intended to be complimentary. He was grateful to him, too, for the man had raised his salary to two dollars a night without being asked, and on several occasions had let him go home early. Besides that, he treated Von Barwig with far more consideration and respect than he did any one else, even his own wife. The latter liked the professor and told her husband she was sure he had seen better days.
This deference made things much easier for the night professor, who otherwise would have suffered many an indignity. Indeed the position seemed to call for special insult from any one who chose to bestow it. He heard the day professor roundly abused on several occasions because he did not play to suit the performers. Not only insults, but cushions were flung at him, and Von Barwig determined if ever this happened to him he would leave at once. He was willing to sacrifice his dignity and his pride, but not his self-respect. Thanks to Mr. Costello nothing happened to mar the harmony of his existence there. The curios were very fond of Von Barwig, and he took quite an interest in them. Poor, crippled human beings, the sadness of their existence aroused his sympathy; their very affliction earning a livelihood for them. Was life not a living hell for them?
He found on closer intimacy with them that it was not, for they enjoyed life after their own manner and were capable of real affection. The midgets always shook hands with him every evening when he came to play. They were a loving little pair, brother, and sister, and they grew quite fond of him. Von Barwig, for his part, used to look upon them as children, although they were both well past forty years of age. Once he saluted the "little girl," as he called her, with a kiss, and he was quite astonished when she blushed. Her brother clapped his hands and enjoyed what he called the fun. But it was the untoward affection of the fat lady that nearly brought about a catastrophe, for her constant smile at the professor aroused the jealousy of the living skeleton and brought about an ultimatum from that gentleman in the shape of a challenge to fight a duel to the death. The fat lady was an agreeable individual. She seemed to have one occupation only, that of sitting in a rocking chair and rocking and fanning herself by the hour. The skeleton was quite sure that the professor was trying to win her affections, but as a matter of fact, Von Barwig was so fascinated by her constant rocking and fanning that he simply could not help looking at her, and she evidently could not help smiling. As he explained to the skeleton, her tempo was against the beat, or in other words, the rhythm of her rocking and fanning conflicted with the rhythm of the music he was playing. The skeleton did not altogether understand Von Barwig's explanation, but he accepted it willingly, for it was clear that the professor had withdrawn from the candidacy for the fat lady's affections!
It must by no means be understood, however, that Von Barwig liked his new occupation. On the contrary, it grieved his very soul; but it was far less painful than he had anticipated. Mr. Costello seemed to realise that his night professor was not in his element and he made it as easy for him as possible. The weary months went on, and Von Barwig by teaching during the day and working at night just barely made ends meet.
"I am getting thinner and thinner," thought he as a ring slipped from his finger and rolled under the old sofa which had been in his room for a long time. In looking for it he came across an old portmanteau which had been slipped under the sofa and had entirely escaped his memory during his residence in Miss Husted's house. He opened it and his heart beat rapidly as he saw the case of pistols he had brought from Leipsic intending to force Ahlmann to fight a duel. He looked at them—there they lay, old-fashioned, duelling pistols—weapons for the shedding of blood. He had found no use for them in all these years and now he would not use them if he could, so he gently laid them down on the piano and looked further into the portmanteau.
Within its depths, among many relics of the past he found one or two of his compositions, pieces for the piano. He lifted them up and underneath lay the symphony played by his orchestra the night she left him—the symphony that had never been heard in its entirety. He let the lid of the portmanteau fall. The dust flew up in his face, but he did not notice it, for memories of that fatal night came thronging into his brain and he could think of nothing but that never-to-be-forgotten scene. A great longing to hear that music again came upon him, a longing he could not resist. It was dusk and the gas lamps were being lit when he sat down at the piano. How long he played he never knew, for when they found him several hours later, it was quite dark and the old man was completely unconscious; his head had fallen on his arm which rested on the keyboard of the piano.
Mr. Costello was quite disturbed at the absence of "Professor Antone of Germany" that night, and when, the next night, Von Barwig walked into the Museum, his violin under his arm as usual, he was greeted quite effusively.
"Well, well, well, profess'! So you didn't give us the shake after all! Say, George, he's come back!" bawled Costello at the top of his voice.
"Yes," said Von Barwig simply, "I've come back."
The midgets laughed, the skeleton scowled, the fat lady smiled; and the old man took out his violin and prepared to go to work.
Miss Husted was a woman of few ideas, but once an idea obtained lodgment in her brain it was by no means an easy matter for her to rid herself of it. She pondered over it and thought it out until it became too big for one person to hold. Then, under the ban of secrecy, she confided it to another, and another, and another, until it became everybody's secret. She went through this process in regard to her aversion to young Poons, whom she suspected in one way or another of being a burden to "the dear professor." In addition she had a haunting dread that Mr. Poons was in love with her niece. Jenny was now nearly nineteen years of age, and although she looked barely sixteen, she had developed into a remarkably good-looking young woman, a fact which young Poons had evidently noticed.
Miss Husted trembled with dismay when she saw Poons look at Jenny. She was very grateful that he couldn't speak to her in English, and still more grateful that Jenny couldn't understand German. Mrs. Mangenborn, aided and abetted by the cards, had predicted a most advantageous marriage for her niece; indeed the cards had pointed to either a title or a million, or both, and Miss Husted dreaded lest any premature, ill-considered love match should interfere with this happy prediction. She declared vehemently that Jenny was too young "even to look at a man."
Now Jenny had no idea that she liked young Poons. She was interested in him because she was sorry for him, and she was sorry for him because her aunt was always speaking against him. So Miss Husted brought about the very condition she most dreaded, for her niece began to like the young man from the moment her aunt forbade her to speak to him. This secret was originally Miss Husted's, but after she had begged Pinac to tell Poons not to behave like a moon-calf, had asked Fico to prevent the young German from sighing audibly whenever he saw Jenny, and had finally told Von Barwig she wouldn't keep Poons in the house at any price, everybody in the house began to suspect something. This suspicion ripened into certainty, and with the solitary exception of Miss Husted everybody sympathised with the young pair and aided and abetted them in their love-making.
But this was not the only awful secret that was troubling Miss Husted's innermost soul. For some time she had been troubled and depressed, for she had found several pawn tickets in Von Barwig's room. She had also missed several ornaments, pictures and even garments that had formerly been conspicuous possessions. His fur-lined coat was gone; and the cuckoo clock, what had become of it? When she saw the pawn tickets she knew, and the knowledge troubled her, for she realised how very badly the professor must need money to pledge articles of such small value. She pondered over her discovery until it became too big for her to bear alone, so she confided it first to Skippy, the little black and tan terrier that the professor had given her as a Christmas gift, and then not getting much response from that quarter she told her secret to Mrs. Mangenborn. She had suspected all along that poor, dear Professor Barwig was not doing well, but she never dreamed it had come to this. Tears came into the good woman's eyes as she showed Mrs. Mangenborn the pawn tickets and tearfully asked her what she could do. Mrs. Mangenborn, being a practical person, suggested reducing his rent and Miss Husted made up her mind to do this forthwith.
She could hear the strains of music coming from his room, so she picked up the little dog, which was now her constant companion, and knocked at the door. Receiving no reply she opened it and walked in. The three men who were playing stopped; Jenny, who was there also, looked very guilty, and began dusting the furniture. Pinac was playing his violin, Poons the 'cello and Fico was at the piano, with Jenny apparently as the audience.
"Isn't Professor Barwig here?" inquired Miss Husted, surprised at his room being occupied during his absence.
"No, Miss Owstong," said Pinac, always the spokesman of the trio. He spoke English slightly better than Fico, who could barely make himself understood. There was an awkward pause. "He lets us come down here to play. We practise to go into the Union. We use his piano; he is very kind," Pinac explained.
At this point the unfortunate Poons dropped his bow and in picking it up, knocked his music stand over. When Miss Husted glared at him, Poons grinned guiltily, and stole a glance in the direction of Jenny. Miss Husted followed this glance with her eye and rather testily suggested to her niece that the bell was ringing and there was no one to answer it. Jenny, who was glad to get out alive, hurriedly made her escape. Poons, sighing deeply, went into the alcove and looked out of the window. Miss Husted sat down, looked around the room pathetically, then followed Poons's example and sighed.
"Gentlemen," she began; then hesitated. After all it was the professor's secret. Perhaps they knew; if not, 'twas better they should. The men looked at each other inquiringly, and waited for her to speak.
"I'm very glad I've found you together—very glad. Do you notice any change in me?"
Pinac and Fico shook their heads, mainly because they were mystified.
"I haven't been sociable lately; not at all like myself," went on Miss Husted, "I'm so upset."
"That's all right," said Fico, who didn't know what else to say.
"Sure," nodded Pinac, who felt he had to add his share to the conversation; then they picked up their music and started to leave the room, but Miss Husted held up her hand and signified that she wanted them to remain. When they came back to her she looked around the room pathetically once more, and began plaintively:
"I said to myself, 'These foreign gentlemen will miss your cheery word in the hall and on the stairs.'"
The men began to feel very uncomfortable, for they had missed nothing. Pinac thought she referred in some way to Poons, and tried to catch his eye and motion to him to get out of the room, but that lovelorn youth was mooning out of the window, so Pinac nodded sympathetically at Miss Husted and said, "Oui, oui. Yes, oh, yes!"
Fico looked very grave and muttered: "Too bad; too bad!"
Again Miss Husted looked around the room very mysteriously and motioned to the men to come closer. They obeyed, somewhat apprehensively this time.
"What did it all mean?" they thought. "Why this mystery?"
"I've something to tell you in confidence," she said finally. She tried to open her reticule and finding Skippy in the way, she handed the little animal to Fico, saying:
"Will one of you gentlemen please hold Skippy while I find those tickets? He just had a bath and if he rolls over he'll get soiled."
Fico took the dog, which promptly yelped, so he hurriedly handed it to Pinac. Pinac, who was afraid of dogs, transferred the animal to Poons. Poons, anxious to be of some service to Miss Husted, tried to pet the dog, but looking at Miss Husted for approval instead of watching the beast, he held it so awkwardly that its head hung down and its tail stuck up in the air. Miss Husted, in the act of pulling pawn tickets out of her reticule, caught sight of the unfortunate animal suspended in mid air, and jumped up quickly.
"Look at him! Look how the stupid, stupid fellow is holding Skippy! All the blood will rush into his poor little head. The dog, the dog; you foolish fellow; the d-o-g, dog! I can't make him understand. Please tell him, Mr. Pinac."
"Hund—hund!" shouted Fico to Poons.
"Le chien—Le chien! Idiot, stupid!" said Pinac.
Poons was so startled by hearing them all shout at him at once that he dropped the dog into Von Barwig's coal scuttle, whence it finally issued covered with coal dust and ran yelping into Miss Husted's arms. That lady petted the frightened animal while Pinac pushed the unfortunate Poons out of the room.
When Miss Husted had completely recovered herself, she held up the pawn tickets.
"I found them," she said dolefully, "under that pile of music."
"Gritt Scott!" said Pinac. He knew at a glance what they were; experience had taught him.
"Are they of Von Barwig?" he inquired.
Fico took three or four of the tickets. "From Anton; yes," and then he sighed and shook his head.
The men knew Von Barwig was poor, but they had no idea to what extent his poverty had reached.
"His cuckoo clock: nine dollars!" read Fico.
"That was the first thing I missed—that cuckoo, evenings," sighed Miss Husted.
"Mozart, gone!" almost shouted Pinac, pointing to the spot on the wall where that musician's portrait had once reposed. "And Beethoven! And where is Gluck?" Then looking around: "Nom de Dieu! even his metronome have gone—his metronome! Dieu, Dieu!"
"I should say it was dear, dear!" said Miss Husted, who slightly misunderstood Pinac.
And so the truth dawned upon them. For months, for years he had deceived them with his smile, his optimism, his gay manner and cheery word, and above all by the open-hearted manner in which he gave away to all who came to him.
"All these years has Professor Von Barwig been in my house and he has paid me like a gentleman. He pays me now, how does he do it? Oh, dear!" Miss Husted tried hard not to cry, but the tears would come. The men looked on sadly; they had always accepted his bounty, and now they were reproaching themselves.
Miss Husted's feelings made her reminiscent, and when she was reminiscent she invariably exaggerated—in retrospect she saw everything as she would have liked it to have been. "When he first came here what a man he was! And this, what a neighbourhood then, an elegant residential district. I had a position then, I could recommend him; everybody knew Miss Houston of Houston Street." In spite of her sorrow she felt proud of the past.
The men looked at each other. They had heard this for the past fifteen years. It meant a long session and they wanted to practise their music; so Pinac merely nodded, and Fico shook his head gravely.
"Why, I was pointed out by everybody as Miss Houston of Houston Street. I was a landmark; a sight."
"Yes," said Pinac unconsciously. "You were; and you are still."
Miss Husted looked at him sharply. "Was he venturing to laugh at her?" she thought. But his sad face belied any such intention.
"How things have changed?" went on Miss Husted tremulously. "There's not a child in this neighbourhood that can afford to pay for his lesson! And when they can't afford it, he won't take the money! He gives away the very bread out of his mouth."
Pinac and Fico shifted uncomfortably.
"Everything he had of value has gone long ago. Do you remember that beautiful violin?"
"Ah, yes! his Amati. Yes, yes! He bought instead a cheap one. I wondered why, but did not ask him."
"And still he pays me. Where does he get it?" asked Miss Husted tearfully. "What is he doing out every night, nearly all night?"
The men looked at each other; this was another revelation. They were out at night themselves and so did not know of his absence.
"There's something done up to go to pawn now," said Miss Husted, pointing to a box wrapped up in a paper on the piano. It was Von Barwig's case of pistols. Pinac and Fico looked at each other in astonishment.
"Pistols for duel!" said Pinac at once. He had seen them in the theatre, long, thin, single barrel pistols.
"Sometimes I feel that he came to this country purposely to take vengeance on some one," said Miss Husted mysteriously. The men were much impressed, but neither of them spoke.
"I don't believe the poor man has his meals half the time," went on Miss Husted, somewhat irrelevantly. "I am almost sure he doesn't."
"We ask him to dine the evening," said Fico, with a look of triumph, feeling that he had not only discovered the problem but had also solved it.
"Yes," assented Pinac, "we ask him."
At this moment Poons came back into the room, having forgotten his music.
Miss Husted was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had no time to frown at him.
A door bang was heard, and her sharp ears detected the sound. "There he is now," she said. "Please don't tell him that I spoke of his affairs. You know how sensitive he is."
A key was heard in the door; Von Barwig evidently thought the room was empty. As he came in, followed by Jenny, the sad expression on his face changed.
"Ah," he said, with a sigh of satisfaction; "when I set foot here, I am among friends. So glad, so glad! Welcome to you all."
Miss Husted, making a few lame excuses, hurried out. She felt that she had been guilty of an indiscretion in betraying the professor's secret to his friends.
Von Barwig greeted his friends warmly.
"Well, how is the littlehausfrau?" he said as he handed Jenny a flower that he had brought for her. "Beauty is a fairy, eh? Sometimes it hides in a flower, sometimes in a fresh young face," and he pinched her cheek tenderly. "Here blooms a rose; not picked, not picked, August!" Poons smiled and shook his head.
"He doesn't understand me," said Von Barwig. "The son of my old friend has been six months in this country, and not a word of English can he speak."
"Never mind, Jenny! I find you a splendid fellow; one who can speak his own mind in his own language. Not a selfish fellow like these bachelors. Bah! a bachelor is not a citizen of his country; he is not even civilised. He is—a nondescript—a—a——"
The men were looking at him sadly as if trying to read his innermost thoughts. They seemed to have realised for the first time that his gaiety was forced. His spirits this afternoon were unusually high; and it made the reality stand out in greater contrast. Pinac felt that he might resent any reference to his financial condition, so he did not speak of it.
"It is a long time since we have had a nice little dinner together," he said in his Gallic way.
"Yes," assented Von Barwig, "a long time!"
"A dinner during which we can exchange confidences," ventured Fico, interspersing his English with Italian, and a word or two of slang. Pinac gave Fico a look of warning.
"He means a 'art to 'art talk," explained Pinac.
"Excellent, excellent!" said Von Barwig, rubbing his hands, and going over to the window he pulled up the blind.
"He falls into our trap very easily," whispered Pinac to Fico; "but be careful!"
Poons looked on and smiled as usual.
"I should like nothing better," said Von Barwig. "You shall all dine with me," and before his friends could remonstrate he had invited Poons to the banquet.
"But I asked you!" said Pinac.
"He ask you," repeated Fico.
"I ask you; we all ask you," asserted Pinac.
"In my apartment!" demanded Von Barwig, with some slight show of dignity. "Come, come! The matter is settled. It is good to have old friends at the table. We won't go to the restaurant; it's too noisy there; we shall dine here. Galazatti will send over a dinner without extra charge, if we order enough."
"I am not hungry," began Fico, but Von Barwig silenced him with a look.
"Then please find your appetite at once," he said.
They saw it was useless to remonstrate with him and for a moment remained silent, but Pinac determined to make another effort.
"You cannot afford such expense," he began. "It is too much."
"Pardon me," said Von Barwig, with quiet dignity, "I can always afford to invite my friends to dinner. I have had lessons all day, ever since early morning. Please, my dear Pinac, and you, Fico, old friend, do not refer to the financial side of our little festivity. It robs it of the zest of enjoyment, of comradeship. Let us eat and drink and be merry! The question is, what shall we have for dinner, not who shall pay for it?" And then without awaiting a reply, he opened the door and called for Jenny.
Pinac and Fico looked at each other. It was evident to them that Miss Husted had exaggerated Von Barwig's poverty, so their spirits rose at once.
"Jenny! We take dinner here. Get me themenu, Poons. Jenny, you will ask your good aunt, Miss Husted, to dine with usen famille—one of our old-time dinners. Now, what shall we have?" he said, scanning the well-thumbedmenuthat Poons had handed to him.
"It is an old one," suggested Fico.
"It is always the same. It is only the date they change," said Von Barwig. Pinac looked over his shoulder at themenu.
"Chicken à la Marengo," said the Frenchman, "with asoupçonof garlic."
"No," said Von Barwig decidedly, "Miss Husted doesn't like garlic!"
"À la Polentais better," suggested the Italian.
"Ein Bischen Limburger," put in Poons, which was instantly frowned upon by all.
Jenny was asked to take down the order, and the process of selecting the dishes for the dinner was gone through; each ordering according to his own taste. Jenny tried to write down everything they wanted, but gave it up after she had filled three pages of suggestions and scratched them out again. Finally Von Barwig ordered a nice little dinner, including spaghetti and garlic. As Jenny was about to take the order to Galazatti's, Miss Husted made her appearance. Jenny told her that the professor had invited her to dinner, and she realised in a moment what had happened. It was the old story; the professor was to be the host. She suggested that she herself get up a little dinner for the men, but Von Barwig wouldn't hear of putting her to the trouble and so his ideas were carried out as usual. It was really a most enjoyable dinner! To this day Miss Husted speaks of it as one of those gala Bohemian affairs that must be seen and heard and eaten to be appreciated. As she afterward told her friend, Mrs. Mangenborn, they had a hip, hip hurray of a time. The dear professor was just as jolly as he could be. Even Poons was tolerable, although she would not for worlds sit next to him at the table. It was simply impossible for her to describe the dinner in detail, but how Fico swallowed the spaghetti without losing it down his shirt front was a mystery. How the man got so much on his fork and swallowed it down by the yard nobody knew, it was simply a sublime feat! But the toasts they drank (with the last of the professor's claret), the songs they sang, the art they discussed! Every word was a scream of laughter.
"Just listen to this," said Miss Husted, laughing at the very memory of the joke. "Young Poons asked what was garlic, and the professor said: 'Garlic is a vegetable limburger!' The idea of such a thing!" Even Mrs. Mangenborn consented to smile.
"And when Mr. Fico said, 'Wine is the enemy of mankind,' Mr. Pinac jumped up and said, 'Is it? Then give me my enemy, that I may drink him down.' Oh, it was a most enjoyable affair. I can't tell you all that was said," went on Miss Husted. "But how the wit did flow! Wit and wine; no, wit and water; there wasn't much wine. We didn't in the least mind the noise that the Donizetti family made overhead; though once when the chandelier nearly came down the professor did say they ought to live in the cellar! I think I'll give them notice next week," she added thoughtfully, "though God knows I need the money."
"What about the pawn tickets?" asked Mrs. Mangenborn.
"Not a word was said about them," replied Miss Husted. "I don't know what to think! The professor was just—oh, he was—well, we had a great time. There's something about Bohemia that appeals to my innermost nature. Give me a Bohemian dinner every time!" she said, when she had spoken her final word on the subject.
"He must have money in the bank," commented Mrs. Mangenborn.
Miss Husted shook her head. "I don't think so," she said.
On the same evening the collection agent for the Blickner Piano Company called on Professor Von Barwig, and presented him with a "final notice."
"I intended to pay you to-day," said Von Barwig. "I will pay you next week. Won't you please wait? I have two lessons to-morrow."
"You'll pay, or we'll take the piano away; that's all! You're six weeks behind."
"I had the money and I intended to give it to you to-day," Von Barwig pleaded. "But—some friends came to dinner, and—" He paused, and then smiled as it occurred to him how thoughtless he had been. The collector left the notice in Von Barwig's possession, and walked away without further comment.
Affairs had not been going along very smoothly at the Museum. About this time, there came into existence a new tempo in music that appealed chiefly to people whose musical tastes were not yet developed, or who had no musical taste or ear whatsoever. Now the performers at Costello's Museum, who were called artists on the playbills, insisted that the "Night Profess'" play their accompaniments to their acts in this new style of musical rhythm—ragtime as it was most appropriately called. But Von Barwig, being a musician, whose music lay in his soul and not merely in his feet and fingers, could not do this. He worked hard to get it, but could not, and the artists complained to the manager. As a result Mr. Costello called upon Von Barwig at his lodgings; much to the professor's astonishment and dismay.
"Say, who was that freak that poked her head out or the door as I came in?" said that gentleman, as soon as he had banged the door shut, and seated himself comfortably in Von Barwig's armchair.
"Freak? Freak? we have no freaks here! Oh," and a faint smile stole over Von Barwig's features, which he tried hard to repress. "You mean perhaps Miss Husted?"
"Do I?" inquired Costello, "well, p'raps I do! She's of the vintage of 1776, and looks like a waxwork edition of ——"
"Please, please!" remonstrated Von Barwig. "She is a lady, a most hospitable, kind-hearted lady! You would like her if you knew her, really——"
"Maybe so," said Costello, somewhat dubiously; and then he blurted out: "Well, profess', I've come on a professional visit! I want to put you wise before you turn up to play to-night."
Von Barwig looked pained. Costello was bawling at the top of his voice, and he was afraid that the household would hear.
"Hush, please! You speak so loud. As you know, my visits to the Museum are, in a sense, a secret. I keep my private and my professional life apart, as it were. Forgive me, but please, please, don't speak loudly! I do not wish it known; for they think that I—they do not know that I—have—" Von Barwig was about to say, "fallen so low," but he did not wish to hurt the amiable Costello's feelings; so he paused.
"That's all right, profess'," broke in Costello; "I'm having a little trouble with my main attraction, Bosco, the armless wonder. I wish she was a tongueless wonder! She has no arms, but my God; how she can talk! I left her taking it out of the day professor; she was swearing a blue streak. Ain't it funny how these stars kick?" and Mr. Costello bit the end off a cigar, viciously lit it, and puffed furiously at it till the room was clouded with smoke. Von Barwig was silent. He was waiting for Mr. Costello to tell him the worst, that he could not come again. His heart began to beat; what should he do if he lost his position?
"She says your music is queering her act," said Mr. Costello finally, "she says you don't give it to her thumpin' enough; she wants ragtime or she can't work."
"I will do my best," said the old man simply. "I try hard to please her; indeed I do!"
"I know you do, I know you do, profess'! But, say, you can't do anything with them guys! You know I like you, you've got such damned elegant manners—the gentleman all over. Yes, sir, you're a twenty-two karat gentleman; you're the first professor the freaks darsent josh!"
Von Barwig bowed his head. He was grateful to Costello; the man had made his hideous task almost bearable.
"Now I don't want to lose her and I don't want to lose you," Costello went on, "but things have got to go right, see? They've got to! You're one of them kind that can take a tip. Give her what she wants! What's the difference? You're a gentleman—she's a lady! She doesn't know any better!"
"I am so sorry, so very sorry to trouble—" faltered Von Barwig.
"You're all right, profess'," broke in Costello, "you earn your money if it is small pay; but the job goes against you, now don't it?" His voice was almost soft. "You ain't used to our kind, are you?" The man's brusque kindness touched Von Barwig, and he choked up a little as he spoke:
"Well—I—I—I have had higher thoughts. Here in Houston Street life is strange, and I must take what I find. Times are a little hard, a little hard, and the parents of my pupils are pushed for money. They don't pay, otherwise, perhaps I—" and Von Barwig sighed.
"You ain't suited, that's what's the matter!"
"Oh, yes; oh, yes! I—" broke in Von Barwig, afraid that Costello might dispense with his services altogether. "I acknowledge the curios came a little on my nerves at first. It was all so strange: the people staring, the midgets chattering, the stout lady fanning, fanning, always fanning, the lecturing of the lecturer; and you at the door always calling 'Insides, insides!'"
Costello laughed, "You mean 'Insi-i-ide.'"
"Yes, insides," went on Von Barwig, unconsciously making the same mistake. Then he added, trying to convince himself, "Better times will come soon and then, perhaps, we shall part, but for the present I remain, eh, yes?"
Costello nodded. "As long as you like, profess'; as long as you like!" and he held out his hand for Von Barwig to shake. As Von Barwig did so, he said: "I shall always remember it was your money that helped me to bridge over—my—my difficulties——"
"That's all right, that's all right!" asserted Costello. "You're worth the money or you wouldn't get it. But don't forget, when the lecturer says, 'Bosco, Bosco, the armless wonder!' play up lively, see? and when he says, 'Bites their heads off and eats their bodies; eats 'em alive, eats 'em alive!' give it to her thumpin'!"
Here Von Barwig drew a deep breath. He was tired, tired unto his very soul of the whole business; but he had to go on.
"Yes," he said, with a pathetic smile, "she shall eat 'em alive yet livelier!"
This appeared to satisfy Costello, and shaking hands with Von Barwig once more, he went out and left him standing in the middle of the room. Von Barwig's eye fell on a daguerreotype of Mendelssohn, and it called him back to Leipsic. "Eat 'em alive, eat 'em alive, eat 'em alive!" rang in his ears. "Good God, to what have I fallen, to what have I fallen?" he cried to himself; then he stopped. "I must have more courage. I am a coward, I am always railing at fate! Who can tell what the future shall have in store for me?" Then he thought of the songs he had found in his old trunk with his symphony. He hastily opened the trunk, took them out and hurried uptown for the purpose of selling them, but the symphony he did not take—he had not the courage to sell that.
It was some years since Von Barwig had tried to dispose of his compositions and he made the rounds of the various music publishers with as little success as usual. "There is no demand for my music," he thought, and he went into a fashionable music emporium, as a last hope.
The clerks at Schumein's recognised him in a moment; his was a face one could not forget. Mr. Schumein, the head of the firm, could not see him; he was busy.
"I will wait," said Von Barwig, and he sat down.
"I'm afraid he'll be busy all the afternoon," said the clerk apprehensively.
"I can wait all the afternoon, if necessary," said Von Barwig. He was tired and was glad to sit down.
"Suppose you leave your songs here and I'll hand them to our reader," suggested the clerk, after Von Barwig had been waiting over two hours.
"They won't see me," thought Von Barwig, "I can no longer obtain an interview. I am not worth seeing," and he smiled to himself as he thought of the days when people used to wait for hours to see him. "Well," he spoke aloud, "I will leave them; and to-morrow I will call for the answer."
"Better leave it till next week; our reader is very busy," said the clerk, a little impatiently.
"I will call again next week," said Von Barwig patiently.
"What's your address?" asked the clerk.
Von Barwig told him and he wrote it on the back of the manuscript. "All right, I'll attend to it," and the young man threw the songs carelessly into a drawer in his desk. Von Barwig thanked him, bowed politely, and walked slowly out.
"Who is that?" asked a young lady who had just arrived in a fashionable carriage and pair. She had been watching Von Barwig for the past few moments and was struck by the sweet, gentle sadness of his face.
"He's a sort of a composer, miss; that is, he writes songs and things. He's a music master, I fancy, in one of the poorer quarters of the city," said the clerk, taking out the manuscript he had just thrown into a drawer.
"Yes," he added, as she saw the address, "he has a studio at 970 Houston Street. Rather far downtown," he added.
"Nine hundred and seventy Houston Street," repeated the girl; "that must be near our settlement headquarters." She made some purchases, and a few moments later the footman opened the door, and she was whisked rapidly away by a pair of fine blooded horses.
"Who is that?" asked a fellow-clerk.
"Why don't you know?" asked the other with a slight tinge of superiority. "It's Miss Stanton, the heiress."
"Is that so? She's a beauty!"
"Yes," went on his informant, "her father is only worth about twenty-five millions!"
The other clerk whistled.
During Von Barwig's absence from his room that morning, young Poons had taken possession of it for the purpose of practising on his 'cello, but this was not his only reason. Jenny invariably made it a point to straighten out Von Barwig's room at just about the time that Poons happened to arrive. There he could look at her and speak to her in little broken bits of the English language, without fear of being interrupted by Miss Husted. Jenny's knowledge of German was as hopelessly nil as his ideas of English; so they made up their minds to study "each other's language from each other." To help matters along, they bought two English-German "Conversation Made Easy" books, and in the security of Von Barwig's studio they exchanged cut and dried sentences by the page, neither understanding what the other said. On this particular morning young Poons, with the assistance of Fico, had written out an English sentence, which he had recited to himself dozens of times that morning, for he had made up his mind to declare himself.
The opportunity came quickly. Poons had scarcely been practising three minutes before the door opened, and in walked Jenny with Mr. Barwig's table-cloth.
"Ach, Fräulein Chenny!" said Poons, blushing.
"Mr. Poons," gasped Jenny, in complete astonishment, although she must have heard him playing as she came through the hall.
"Ach, Fräulein Chenny," he repeated, trying to remember his declaration, but by this time the English sentence he had learned by heart had completely left him.
"I could not speak to you for two days because auntie, that is, Miss Husted, was watching," said Jenny, laying the cloth. Poons nodded and smiled. "She was watching," said Jenny, but he made no sign. "Verstay? Verstay?" she repeated, making her little stock of German go as far as she could.
"Nein! Ich—" said Poons hopelessly. He was hunting for the piece of paper with his declaration of love on it, and was having a great deal of trouble finding it. Where was it? He knew it was in one of his pockets; but which one? He looked very awkward and embarrassed.
"Have you your lessons learned?" asked Jenny, taking out her English-German "Conversation Made Easy" book, and hoping to help him out by starting on a topic.
"Nein," replied Poons, who knew what she meant when he saw the book. Then he added in German that he had been so thoroughly occupied in practising that he had no time, but that he had something of great importance that he wanted to say to her.
Jenny almost shook her head off trying to make it clear that she didn't understand a word he said.
"Fräulein Chenny," he began again, but gave it up. He opened the lesson book and read in English, with a strong German accent, "Heff you die—hett of—die poy—found?" Then he looked at her ardently, as if he had just uttered the most delicate sentiment. Jenny smiled, and read what she considered to be an appropriate answer.
"Nein, ich hab die slissell meine—Grossmutter——"
She looked at him for approval,
"Schlüssel," corrected Poons.
"Slissell," repeated Jenny.
"Schlüss——"
"Sliss——"
Poons gave up trying and went back to his book, reading the following with deep-bated breath and loving emphasis.
"Vich—-iss—to der hotel—die—vay?"
Jenny's reply came with business-like rapidity.
"Der pantoffle ist in die zimmer——"
"Puntoffel," corrected Poons.
"Pantoffle," responded his pupil.
"Tsimmer," said he.
"Zimmer," repeated she, placing the accent strongly on the "Z"; and so the lesson went on. Suddenly a smile of joy spread itself over Poons's features. In searching for his handkerchief he had fished out a piece of paper from his hip-pocket. Joy! it was the lost declaration of dependence! He opened it, and read her the following with such ardent tenderness and affection, that the girl's heart fairly beat double time.
"Fräulein Chenny," he began, putting the piece of paper in the book and pretending that it was part of his lesson. "Fräulein Chenny, I cannot mit you life midout—you liff," and then, feeling that he had somewhat entangled his words, he repeated: "I cannot life midout—you—Chenny—you Chenny midout." Jenny looked at him in perplexity. His manner, the words—all were so strange!
"That isn't in the lesson," she managed to gasp, holding down her head bashfully.
"I cannot life midout you liff! Luff, Chenny, luff!" he added. He meant love, for he knew the meaning of that, and he waited for her answer. Perhaps she did not understand, but if she did, all she seemed able to say was:
"That isn't in my lesson, Mr. Poons; it isn't in my lesson!"
What Poons said in response to Jenny's statement will never be known, for at that precise moment in walked Von Barwig, who had just returned from his weary, useless effort to sell his compositions. His face brightened up as he saw the young lovers, and a beautiful smile chased away the lines of sorrow and suffering. There was no mistaking Poon's attitude. His eyes were full of love, and he held Jenny's hand in his. Although she indignantly snatched it away as soon as the door opened, probably thinking it was her aunt, Von Barwig saw the action, and it brought joy to his poor, bruised old heart.
"Come here, Jenny," he said. She nestled by his side.
"Poons," he said sternly in German, "how long has this been going on?"
"I don't know, Herr Von Barwig," replied Poons, in a low voice.
"Jenny, do you approve of his action?"
"I don't know, professor, I—" Jenny laid her head on his shoulder and Von Barwig knew that she loved the young man.
"Scoundrel!" began Von Barwig, turning to Poons. He tried to be serious, but the expression on Poons's face made him smile in spite of himself. Poons begged him to speak to Jenny for him; he pleaded so hard that Jenny asked Von Barwig if he was talking about her.
"Ask him if he likes me!" said Jenny innocently.
"I will," replied Von Barwig, and he turned to Poons. "Do you love her?" he asked.
Poons's reply was a torrent of burning love, a flood of words that let loose the pent-up emotion of a highly strung musical temperament that for months had longed for utterance. The way he poured out the German language surprised both his hearers; it seemed as if he could not restrain himself. In vain did Von Barwig try to stem the onward rush of the tidal wave of talk, for declaration followed on declaration, until Poons had completely poured out all he had wanted to tell Jenny for months. He only stopped then because he had fairly exhausted the subject.
"What did he say?" asked Jenny anxiously.
"He said, yes," said Von Barwig, with a faint smile.
Jenny looked at him shyly, and held out her hand.
"Go on, love, you loon!" said Von Barwig to Poons in German, "you have caught your fish. Don't dangle it too long on the hook!"
Poons acted on the suggestion, and took Jenny in his arms and kissed her. The old man looked on approvingly; his eyes were moist with tears, but his thoughts were far away from the lovers. He loved them, yes; they were good children, good; dear, children, but his heart yearned for his own flesh and blood. It did not satisfy him that Jenny put her arms around his neck and kissed him gratefully, or that Poons embraced him and cried over him. Their happiness only emphasised his misery. He wanted his own flesh and blood; he wanted his wife and his little Hélène.
But, feeling that he was selfish, he kissed them both affectionately, and promised he would speak to Miss Husted for them at the first opportunity. He did not have to wait long, for a few moments later Miss Husted came into the room with a letter for the "professor," and saw enough to convince her that Poons and her niece were more than friends. Poons wanted to pour out his heart to Miss Husted and tell her all, but Von Barwig promptly squelched this impulse, and sent him out of the room. Jenny followed him, and Von Barwig faced Miss Husted alone.
"They are charming young people," began Von Barwig.
"Yes, when they're apart," she replied.
"Now what have you against young Poons?" he asked conciliatingly.
"Nothing," replied Miss Husted, "but I don't like him!"
"Ah, if you knew his father!"
"I don't see how that would make any difference; it's the young man himself I object to! Besides, I have tremendous prospects for Jenny; she is going to marry a rich man, a very rich man."
"This is news," said Von Barwig.
"Yes," replied Miss Husted.
"Who is the gentleman?" asked Von Barwig.
"We don't know him yet; he—" Miss Husted hesitated.
"Ah, I see!" said Von Barwig, a flood of light breaking in on him.
"But I know he will come!"
Von Barwig shook his head. "You have been consulting Mrs. Mangenborn, the lady who promises you a fortune for fifty cents. Ah, my dear Miss Husted, when will you understand life as it is? You take the false for the real and the real for the false!"
"I take Mr. Poons for a fool!" said Miss Husted with some asperity, "and I am not far wrong."
"On the contrary," assented Von Barwig, "to some extent you are right, quite right! But he is young, and he is in love. To you, perhaps; love is foolishness; but love is all there is in life." There was quite a pause. Miss Husted toyed with the letter she had not yet given to the professor.
"You may be right, of course," said Miss Husted after a while. She was more placid now, more like herself. In thought she had gone back many years to a certain episode, the memory of which softened her toward love's young dream, and even toward Poons.
Von Barwig looked at her a moment, then took her hand in his.
"Is it possible, dear lady, that you, in your woman's heart, never wished that you had something to take care of besides Skippy?"
"Yes, but Mr. Poons is not—" began Miss Husted, and then she blurted out "I can't understand him; he can't understand me. I might talk to him for a week and he wouldn't know what I was talking about!"
"Yes, but Jenny understands him. What joy have you in life alone? Think of the joy of seeing a young couple begin life, just like two young birds in a little bird's nest! God put love into their hearts; can you stop them? No, neither you nor I can forbid! As well try to count the sands of the sea, as well try to stop the waves, the tides!"
Miss Husted did not reply for a moment. It was evident that Von Barwig had made some impression on her, but she would not admit it.
"I had built such hopes on Jenny," she said, shaking her head sadly.
"Can you tell how Poons will turn out?" inquired Von Barwig, feeling that he was gaining ground.
Miss Husted elevated her nose slightly, and handed the professor his letter. "He'll turn out of this house if he makes love to my niece!" she said.
"Give the matter a little thought," urged Von Barwig. "They both love you," he added.
Miss Husted sighed deeply as if thoroughly disappointed. Then she began to whimper. She told Von Barwig the story of Jenny's life; which story, with variations, he had heard annually for many years. He listened patiently, and agreed with her. Finally he extracted from her a promise to suspend action in reference to Poons until she had given the matter more thought.
"But in the meantime," insisted Miss Husted, "they must not speak!"
Knowing the extent of their knowledge of each other's language, Von Barwig readily promised on behalf of Poons to obey her injunction to the letter, and she left the room in a state of resignation.
Von Barwig opened his letter, his eyes fairly glittering with excitement as he read the following: