Leipsic is a grim old town with no sentimental associations. Schiller,
to be sure, once lived there, but he had a bad time of it, in spite of
the slippers and things with which Dora and Minna Stock tried to
mollify his existence. The smoke which hangs over the Leipsic
chimney-tops is dense, prosaic smoke, which refuses to fashion itself
into fairy forms or airy castles in obedience to romantic fancy. Mr.
Leonard Grover actually swore (in Latin, of course, for he was too
well-mannered to swear in English), that it was the most irritating
and pestiferous smoke he had ever encountered since he left his native
town of Pittsburg, where a man, by the way, has a fine chance of
studying the effects of smoke both upon linen and temperament. Mr.
Grover was, however, cheerful by nature and refused to be permanently
depressed. He was in Leipsic for a practical purpose, and could not
afford to indulge in sentimental moods. And yet, in spite of his
determination to stick to his science and his laboratory practice, he
had unaccountable fits of loneliness, when from sheer despair he went
to call upon Professor Bornholm, to whom he had had a letter of
introduction and whose family had received him with much cordiality.
He would have liked to call upon somebody else occasionally, but the
fact was, during the six months he had been at the University he had
made no acquaintance outside of his student circle, except the
Bornholms. They seemed to like him so much that they refused to share
him with anybody else; they even refrained from introducing him to the
friends who might happen to call during his visits. Minchen, who was
the artistic daughter and made wax-flowers, usually found some way of
disposing of him when inconvenient callers of the gentler sex made
their appearance. She usually brought a fictitious message from the
Professor, who, having entrapped the young man into his study,
proceeded to bore him to death with oxalates and chlorides and
sulphuric acids.
Roeschen, the poetic daughter, whose slippers were a little down at the
heel, displaying to advantage the holes in her stockings, was wont to
employ her mother as an accomplice and, on some pretext or other,
lured the American into her garden, where there was the most
delightful privacy for sentimental confidences. Gretchen, the youngest
daughter, who was obliged to devote herself to domesticity, on account
of the inconvenient talents of her sisters, was even at less pains to
disguise her designs upon him, but told him frankly that Minchen and
Roeschen were--well, not at all as nice as they might be.
In one of these bursts of frankness Gretchen also confided to him that
Roeschen had written to a lady friend in America--a former pupil at the
Conservatory who had boarded in the family--and had received from her
a complete biography of his humble self, besides a computation of his
income and economic prospects. It then required very little ingenuity,
on his part, to conjecture why the sisters, in spite of their somewhat
ostentatious amiability, frequently appeared to have been at
loggerheads just as he entered. He had often heard the word Phoenix
pass mysteriously between them, and much as his modesty rebelled, he
was forced to the conclusion that he was, himself, the brilliant bird
Phoenix, for the possession of which these fair enchantresses were
privately contending. He had never before had the audacity to regard
himself as a brilliant _parti_, and he had even had a grudge of long
standing against Fate for having equipped him so poorly. Measured by
the German standard, however, his modest patrimony suggested princely
opulence; and its possessor became conscious of a certain agreeable
expansion, peculiar to capitalists. Smile as he might at the smallness
of the social conditions which allowed him to play the _role_ of a
Croesus in the fancy of love-sick maids, he could not deny that he
found it a pleasant thing to be the object of such tender rivalry. It
seemed to add a cubit to his height and two to his self-esteem. He
revelled in the sense of his desirability and watched with amusement
the innocent manoeuvres by which his fair entertainers checkmated
each other, and in their zeal occasionally forgot that he, too, was a
rational being, endowed with the faculty of criticism. There was
another, however, who made this reflection for them; and that was
their mamma--the Frau Professorin. She was becoming alarmed at the
discord which prevailed in the family; for, being behind the scenes,
as it were, she knew a good deal which Grover could not know, and
which perhaps it would not have been well for him to know. Thus she
found one day in Minchen's room a drawing in which the American, in
the character of Paris, was holding above his head an apple, with the
inscription "$5,000 a year;" while three lovely goddesses in scanty
attire were stretching out their hands and jumping frantically to
reach it. The likenesses were unmistakable and the situation
sufficiently pointed to need no commentary. The Frau Professorin was
much impressed by it, and her interest, it is needless to say, was
enlisted in behalf of the goddesses. She resented the reserved
attitude of the shepherd, and was yet anxious to assist him in
arriving at a decision. Minchen, now, with her charming talent for
making counterfeit cucumbers in wax and sections of hard-boiled eggs,
would be just the wife for a practical man like him. She would invest
his home with an artistic flavor which he himself would be capable of
appreciating, though powerless to supply. And yet Roeschen, with her
beautiful verses, her nonchalant toilets and her poetic sympathy for
improprieties which, in practice, she was careful to shun, might be
even more fitted than her sister to lift and ennoble a sordid American
soul. It only remained to be considered whether Gretchen, who could
grow enthusiastic over the decline of one cent in the price of butter,
might not, after all, be a more kindred nature, and therefore suit him
best of all.
The Frau Professorin was deeply engaged in these meditations when the
maid handed her a small card, upon which was engraved the name,
Leonard Grover. To conceal her agitation she threw a glance into the
mirror and gave a few decorative touches to her person, before
admitting the visitor. Then she put on her company smile and seated
herself in a defensive attitude in the large, leather-covered
easy-chair. She gave her hand graciously, without rising, to Grover as
he entered.
"I hope your buffalo herds are prospering," she said, after the
exchange of a few preliminary civilities.
"My buffalo herds!" exclaimed the young man, laughing. Then, as it
suddenly struck him that it might be a joke, he continued with zest:
"Oh, yes, indeed, thank you; they are doing famously. They made quite
a sensation as they were driven through the streets of New York, the
other day, on their way from Chicago to the Kansas plains."
"Indeed," replied Mrs. Bornholm effusively; "allow me to congratulate
you."
"Thank you," he stammered helplessly.
She had been serious after all.
A minute or two elapsed, during which he did not muster courage to
make any further remarks.
"Are the young ladies at home?" he finally essayed, just as the pause
was threatening to become awkward.
"The young ladies," repeated the Frau Professorin, beaming with
maternal benevolence; "permit me to ask to which of them do you refer
in particular?"
"To all three of them," replied the American cheerfully.
"That is very kind of you," she retorted, without, however, the
faintest tinge of sarcasm. "I know, even though it is their own mother
who says it, that my daughters all deserve the admiration which you so
impartially bestow upon them. But the fact is, Mr. Grover--why should
I not be perfectly frank and open with you?--the fact is--no man can
marry three girls," she finished rather lamely. She evidently lacked
courage to make the revelation which she at first contemplated.
"I am well aware of that, Frau Professorin," was Grover's somewhat
aimless response; "and I assure you," he went on heartily, "that I
wouldn't think of such a thing; no, not for all the world."
He had an uncomfortable sensation about his ears, after having made
this laudable announcement, and he began to cast about for a pretext
for taking his leave. His hostess was, however, not disposed to let
him escape so easily.
"The Professor and I," she remarked, blandly, "have observed with much
satisfaction your devotion to our daughters. We know you to be a man
of character, and we know that it would be far from your intentions to
trifle with the feelings of the dear, innocent and unsophisticated
creatures. But our German custom, as you may not be aware, is to
confine one's courtship to one, and not to scatter one's devotion
among too many. In other countries that may be different, but as you
have come here to learn German manners, I thought I would call your
attention to this, and ask you to tell me, in strict confidence, of
course, to which one of my daughters you are paying your addresses."
If the ceiling had tumbled down over his head, Grover could not have
been more astonished. It was a fact, he had been almost a daily
visitor in the Professor's house; he had very likely, in unguarded
moments, in order to practice his imperfect German, made complimentary
speeches to the three young ladies, individually and collectively;
and in all probability he had, from a German point of view, given the
Frau Professorin the right to talk to him as she did. And yet, to
submit readily to the consequences of his rash conduct did not for a
moment occur to him. His instinct bade him rather resort to a
stratagem, which, as he concluded, the dire necessity would justify.
"Frau Professorin," he began solemnly, "I need scarcely assure you
that I feel greatly honored by what you have told me. But the fact is,
I am not free. I am engaged."
"Engaged!" cried the Frau Professorin, starting forward in her chair.
"Why, then, did you not tell me that?"
"It is a secret engagement."
"A secret engagement! And do your parents know of it?"
"They do not."
"And the lady's name?"
"Miss--Miss--Jones."
Grover had no genius for mendacity and he was already beginning
to repent of his daring fiction. But Mrs. Bornholm, suddenly
possessed with some luminous idea, proceeded mercilessly in her
cross-examination, feeling that her position, as the wronged party,
gave her a right to trample upon conventionalities.
"Is this Miss Jones musical?" she queried eagerly.
"Yes," he replied vaguely; "that is, I believe so."
"You will excuse me," she went on; "but I am naturally much interested
in this unknown person, because of my interest in you. Would you mind
telling me if she is dark or a blonde?"
"She is dark."
"One thing more; have you written to her recently?"
"No; not very recently."
"And has she ever said anything to you about coming here?"
"Not a word."
The Professorin arose with a triumphant nod and began to pace the
floor.
"Miss Jones is a brunette, musical and rich--I suppose she is rich?"
she repeated, with an interrogative glance at Grover.
"She is not poor," he responded feebly.
"Good," said his tormentor fiercely, and nodding again with great
emphasis, "very good."
Grover began to feel apprehensive that she had taken leave of her
senses. The disappointment, the shock to her cherished hopes, had
perhaps been too much for her. He arose a little tremblingly and
offered her his hand.
"I am your most obedient servant, Frau Professorin," he remarked,
bowing deeply, and backing toward the door.
"We shall no doubt have the pleasure of seeing you soon again, Mr.
Grover," she observed, eyeing him with curious significance.
"You are very kind," he murmured, and made haste to vanish.