"That is our secret, eh, little friend? You will never speak of it, never tell a soul, eh? And you write to me, you tell me all the news of the neighbourhood. Let me know how the poor pupils get on without their old music master. Here, Jenny! here is money for stamps."
The girl shook her head. "No, no!" she cried, "not that!"
"Hush! Money for stamps for the little letters, about the little pupils," and Von Barwig pressed a bill into her hand.
"Any one on these woiks?" bellowed a loud, deep ba.s.s voice from below.
Von Barwig started as he recognised the voice of Mr. Al Costello. "I see you again before I go, Jenny," he said quickly as the portly person of the Museum manager emerged up the stairway. He carried a large newspaper parcel in his hands. Jenny looked in amazement at the fat, florid face of the big man. The incongruity of this great big, noisy individual calling on the dear, quiet little professor was too much for her and she went away wondering.
"Say, profess"!" bawled he of the large diamond; "if the freak that runs this joint don"t put some one on the door, one of these days she"ll get her props pinched."
Von Barwig bowed. He had not the slightest idea what Mr. Costello was talking about, but he knew it was advice of some sort and that he must appear to be grateful.
After shaking hands with Von Barwig and making a few pa.s.sing inquiries as to the night professor"s health Mr. Costello came to the direct object of his visit.
"The members of my bloomin", blink house," began Mr. Costello in his most ponderous manner, "want me to present you with this--er--token, as a memento and a souvenir and a memorial of the occasion, in which our night professor gave us the grand shake, or words to that effect. I can"t remember the exact hinkey d.i.n.k they gave me; but, professor, it amounts to this," and Mr. Costello unwrapped the parcel he had so carefully brought upstairs with him. "This loving cup is a token of the regard and esteem in which you are held by us in general, and me and my wife in particular. And I can tell you my wife is particular, very particular," added Mr. Costello sententiously. "Here, take it!"
and the Bowery Museum proprietor thrust a large pewter water pitcher into Von Barwig"s hands.
The old man was quite surprised and not a little affected. This new proof of the affection of the poor, unfortunate creatures who made their afflictions the means of earning their livelihood touched him to the very heart, and for a moment he was unable to find words to express his feelings.
Mr. Costello lit a cigar.
Von Barwig looked at the water pitcher and then at Costello and began: "Mr. Costello, and--and--" he paused.
"Freaks," prompted Costello.
"No, no!" interposed Von Barwig quickly. "No, not freaks! Ladies and gentlemen of the Curio Salon."
"Very neatly put, but they"d get a swelled head if they heard it,"
broke in Costello, puffing on his cigar.
"I accept your gift with--with great--great pleasure," went on Von Barwig; "with more pleasure than I can say!"
"Drink hearty and often," said Costello loudly. "May it never be empty! Say, profess", the fat woman"s all broke up; honest, she liked you!" and the big man roared with laughter at the bare idea of the stout lady"s sorrow.
"The midgets," inquired Von Barwig. "How is their health?"
"You couldn"t kill "em with an axe!" replied Costello.
"And "eat "em alive!" She is still eating "em, eh?" inquired Von Barwig with a slight smile.
"She does nothing _but_ eat! Ah! she gives me a pain; she"s a four-flush!" growled the Museum proprietor. "She don"t make good!"
"Tell them, I have grown fond of them all, and I--part from them with regret, deep regret! They have kind hearts. Ah, there are many kind hearts in this world," and Von Barwig sighed deeply.
Costello looked at him and shook his head slowly: the man was touched.
That any one could express anything like affection or sentiment for the poor creatures in his curiously a.s.sorted collection was a marvel to him.
"Put it there, profess"," he said, and held out his hand to Von Barwig.
"You"re all right, profess"; you"re all right, and your job is always open for you, rain or shine, summer or winter! You can always come back--good or bad biz--the job is yours for the askin". There ain"t n.o.body that can touch you in your line; and you"re all to the good at that! Good-bye, profess"," and shaking Von Barwig"s hand heartily the big man went away, leaving the object of his praises standing alone, deep in thought.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a slight scream. It was Miss Husted. She had met Mr. Costello on the stairway, and that gentleman had frightened her by playfully poking her in the ribs and bursting into a loud laugh.
Von Barwig hastily put the water pitcher into his trunk.
"What a rude man!" declared Miss Husted, as she came into the room, holding Skippy in one hand and a dish of hot steak and potatoes in the other. "Well, professor--" she said with her sweetest smile, "if Mahomet won"t come to the breakfast, the breakfast must come to Mahomet! There"s some hot coffee downstairs, oh, I see you have some,"
she said, as she looked at the coffee pot on the stove; "come now, sit down and eat!"
Von Barwig meekly obeyed her. In his excitement he had forgotten that he had not tasted a mouthful that day. He did not know how hungry he was until he sat down to the steaming hot coffee and the excellent little steak and potatoes furnished by Miss Husted. If she furnished the professor with food for the body, she also furnished him with food for the mind, for the dear good lady talked, and talked, and talked.
Fortunately Von Barwig was a good listener; that is, he had the faculty of thinking of something else than what was being said. He had always been the repository for all her troubles, but until to-day she had never gone so far as to confess to him the reasons why she had never married, and would never marry, not if the last man in the world asked her. She told him of her first engagement and how it had resulted disastrously, how she had loaned the object of her affections large sums of money, until finally he ran away, leaving her penniless, and she had been compelled to work for a living. Von Barwig was very sympathetic that morning and it was this sympathy which drew her out.
"We live too much in the past, you and I," said Von Barwig. Then, after a pause, he added: "I, too, have had a loss. You live in your loss, I in mine. We remember what we should forget and we forget what we should remember. We must turn to the present, the here, and the now; the living claims our attention, not the dead. What is gone before is over and done with. Have done with it. The memory of the past kills the present and the future. It never cures it. Ah, dear lady, live in the present; it"s your only chance of happiness. Jenny, August Poons, they are the present! Live in them, don"t discount their happiness, your own happiness, by waiting for some impossible future for your niece. It is in them, my dear friend, you will find happiness. It is in them you will find affection and love. It is in their joy you will find joy; their children shall be your children.
Don"t deny yourself that happiness!"
Miss Husted was silent for a long while. Von Barwig took her hand in his, speaking in a low, gentle voice. "It is the last request I make before I go to-morrow!"
"Before you go!" cried Miss Husted. "Why, where are you going?"
Von Barwig still held her hand tenderly clasped in his. He looked at her sadly, but made no answer.
"Professor!" she gasped, and then for the first time she noticed that his trunk was outside his room; packed, ready to go.
"You"re going away?" she wailed pathetically. "You"re going away?" The tears came to her eyes. "Where, where are you going?" she asked in a tone of entreaty. "Where? Where?"
"Home," he replied simply.
"Home?" she repeated tearfully.
"Home, back to Leipsic. My life here is over. I should have gone months ago, but I waited to see a dear, dear pupil married. What I have come for is accomplished, and now I go back; my mission is ended.
See, I have bought my ticket," and Von Barwig brought out his ticket to show her.
Miss Husted was fairly stunned. She could only look at him in silence.
"Look! see my ticket," repeated Von Barwig, handing it to her to look at.
"First-cla.s.s?" she asked plaintively. She always thought for her dear professor"s comfort.
"Yes, first-cla.s.s steamer," he replied.
"Why it"s a steerage ticket!" she said, looking closely at it.
"Yes, first-cla.s.s steerage! Ach, what does it matter? I get there all right," said Von Barwig. "Here is what I owe you, all reckoned up to the penny! Here," and he thrust a small roll of bills in her hand.
"Oh, professor!" wailed Miss Husted. It was all she could say. She did not even realise that he had given her money.
"I shall not tell the others until the very last moment. I"ll wake them up before daylight and say good-bye to them. Ah, it is not easy to see these old friends go out; one by one, like lamps in the dark!"
Miss Husted could only gaze at him through her tear-bedimmed eyes and shake her head mournfully. Von Barwig tried to cheer her.