The next morning, while Von Barwig was waiting for a pupil--he had very
few in these days--Jenny came into his room with a letter, at the sight
of which his heart beat rapidly, for it was post-marked Germany. The
handwriting was in a boyish scrawl he did not recognise.
"Not many pupils to-day?" ventured Jenny.
"No, they don't come; I'm afraid this is not just exactly the
neighbourhood. New York is going uptown. I gave only fifteen lessons
last week."
"That's not bad, is it?" asked Jenny.
"Not so bad when they pay, but they don't," laughed Von Barwig, and
seeing that his visitor was in no hurry to leave him, Von Barwig
ventured to open his letter and read it. He read it again and then
looked at Jenny with such a perplexed expression on his face that she
was forced to laugh in spite of herself.
"Young Poons is coming," he said finally.
"Is he?" replied Jenny doubtfully.
"Yes, he is coming. He is the son of an old friend; a very dear old
friend. His name is August and he wants me to--to give him a start in
life. He is a 'cello player. You know what is a 'cello? It's a large
violin and stands up when you play it, so," and he took his own violin
and placing it between his knees showed her how the 'cello was
manipulated.
"He sails on the steamship _City of Berlin_. He is coming here to make
his fortune," and Von Barwig laughed at the idea of making a fortune at
music in America.
"How old is he?" asked Jenny.
"Hum--he must be seventeen by this time!" Jenny became quite
interested. "I knew him when he was quite a little chap; his father
was a horn player in my orchestra at--at--" Von Barwig hesitated; "in
Germany. I must help him. Yes, Jenny, I must help him. Poor old
August, I must be a father to his son! He was a dear little chap," he
said reminiscently. "Tell your aunt we shall want one of her bedrooms
on the top floor if it is at liberty."
"The one next to Mr. Pinac is empty. Aunt will be so pleased that a
friend of yours is going to take it." And Jenny rushed off to acquaint
her aunt with the good news.
Von Barwig told the news of the impending arrival of his friend's son
to Pinac and Fico, and the three men went down to the docks to meet
him. At the docks they learned that he had arrived with eleven hundred
other steerage passengers and had landed at Castle Garden, so they went
down to the Battery to try and find him. They found him in an inner
room off the immigrants' reception hall, sitting on an old trunk, and
busily engaged in trying to prevent his 'cello, which was protected
only by a green bag, from being smashed by the rushing, gesticulating
crowd of baggage men, porters and immigrants. With his round, smiling
face and blond hair he was the picture of his father, and Von Barwig,
recognising him in a moment, embraced him cordially.
"I am to be sent back," he cried in German.
"Nonsense!" said Von Barwig, placing his arm around the young man
affectionately. After Von Barwig had introduced his friend, they
noticed his crestfallen manner.
"What's the matter?" asked Pinac, who could not understand German, but
who knew something was wrong, and wanted to show Poons that he knew the
ropes in the States. Poons poured out a tale of woe which was intended
to touch Von Barwig's heart and gain his sympathy, instead of which it
made him laugh heartily.
"Some one is investing his money for him and hasn't come back yet," Von
Barwig confided to his friends; and they laughed too. Poons could not
understand why the men laughed at his troubles. The simple German lad
had been swindled out of all his money, two hundred marks, by the
simplest and most transparent of the many methods of swindling, the
confidence game, and the immigration authorities had refused to allow
him to land, as he had no means of subsistence. Von Barwig had very
little money with him, so he consulted with his friends. They were
playing in a _café_ at night and had a few dollars in their pockets,
which they cheerfully handed to Von Barwig. Between them they managed
to find the necessary money and Poons was allowed to land. On the way
uptown the boy was profuse in his gratitude for the money that Von
Barwig had sent to his mother while she lived. It was she who had
given her son Von Barwig's address and begged him to seek him out in
America and greet him for her. Poons was greatly astonished at Von
Barwig's appearance and condition, for he had always heard of him as
one of the great conductors of Germany. He did not understand how Herr
Von Barwig could be so poor, but he accepted the facts as they were and
ceased to ask himself any further questions.
In due course they arrived at Miss Husted's and young Poons, bag and
baggage and 'cello, was shortly afterward ensconced in a hall bedroom
on the top floor of that lady's establishment. Von Barwig hurried to
his room, locked the door and looked around him. A little later when
he let himself quietly into the street, he had under his arm, carefully
wrapped up, his cuckoo clock and a couple of pictures. That night at
Galazatti's, when he handed to Pinac and Fico the money he had borrowed
from them at Castle Garden and paid for the little dinner which he gave
them to celebrate the arrival of Poons in America, they did not suspect
that he had spent the very last dollar he had in the world.
* * * * * *
Young Poons was not a success at first. He had a good technique and
was a well-grounded musician, but he could not get an engagement suited
to him, as he was not in the Union, and the foolish boy would not play
dance music. He said he couldn't, and unfortunately the responsibility
for his financial condition rested on Von Barwig. It was he who was
compelled to make arrangements with Miss Husted and it was a hard blow
to him to have the additional incumbrance, especially when times were
so hard and pupils so scarce. It may be imagined that Miss Husted did
not take very kindly to the new arrival, who was unable to pay even his
first week's room rent. Of course she sympathised with his misfortune,
but thought he should have taken care of his money and not have handed
it to the first person who asked for it, so that now he was a pauper.
She discussed this delicate point with Mrs. Mangenborn in the strict
privacy of her room, but Jenny's ears were very sharp and her sympathy
went out to young Poons. "Poor young man," she thought, "what a pity
that he had been robbed." That his mother and father were dead added
to the romance, and she felt a sort of a fellow-orphan's interest in
him. "Poor boy! robbed of his fortune on his arrival in a strange
country; penniless and homeless; can't speak a word of English; as
helpless as a child." The maternal instinct in the child was aroused,
and his large innocent blue eyes and blond hair made a very strong
appeal to her. He needed a mother and she determined to be a mother to
him. So, many a little delicacy was left surreptitiously in his room;
now a box of chocolates, now a slice of cake, or even a few flowers.
When young Poons would thank Miss Husted for these attentions in the
choicest German that lady would turn on him and tell him to mind his
own business, and he would smile and bow deferentially to her, saying,
"Ja, Frau Hooston."
As the weeks went on, the struggle for Von Barwig to pay expenses
became greater and greater. Poons saw that it was an effort and
determined to sink his pride, so he begged Pinac to help him get
something for him to do; anything, anywhere. It was a great day for
Poons when Fico announced to him that the proprietor of the _café_
where they played had given them permission to bring him and his 'cello
on trial for a week at a salary of six dollars and his supper, at the
end of the night concert. Jenny was quite proud. "I told you that Mr.
Poons would succeed," she said joyfully to her aunt.
"Wait," replied Miss Husted, "he's not out of the woods yet."
But she was mistaken, for he held on to his engagement and at the end
of the week was taken on permanently. This was most fortunate, for by
this time Von Barwig had completely denuded his room of all superfluous
articles of value; even the fine old prints that had adorned his
bedroom went for a mere trifle. A silver baton that had been given him
by the director of the Gewandhaus was the last thing to go. It was
quite a wrench to part with it, for it was the last link between Von
Barwig and his musical past.
In the meantime he had lowered his prices for music lessons in the
hopes of increasing the number of his pupils, and at Miss Husted's
suggestion even had a new sign made with large letters in gold-leaf.
But pupils did not come, and Von Barwig felt that he was indeed doomed
to failure. Everything he touched turned to dross; his one pupil of
promise had died; there was no future, no outlook, no hope, and yet he
did not give up, nor did he speak of his troubles to his friends. How
he kept Miss Husted paid up she never knew, and yet, punctually every
week, he handed to her the sum of money due her. When he suggested
taking a smaller room upstairs she offered to lower the price of the
room he was occupying. This sacrifice the old man would not accept; so
he remained where he was, always hoping, hoping, hoping. He did not
complain directly to her, but she knew that he was taking in little or
no money. She blamed him for not being more exacting with those who
were indebted to him, and as a matter of fact had he been able to
collect all that was owing to him he would have been in far better
circumstances; but no one seemed to think he needed money--he had such
a prosperous air.
"What can I do?" said Von Barwig apologetically, when she told him to
sue his delinquent pupils. "I tell them their course of lessons is
finished and they make no reply, or if they do, it is an excuse or a
promise. I cannot go to law with them, and if I could, just think what
it would cost for the lawyer! Besides, they are very poor--these
neighbours of ours. Music with them is a luxury, not a necessity.
Poor souls, it brings a little joy into their lives! They struggle so
hard to get higher in the scale of existence; why should I impede their
progress by demanding my pound of flesh? No, my dear Miss Husted, they
do the best they can; but they are poor."
"And so are you," replied Miss Husted, shaking her curls.
Von Barwig shook his head dubiously. "I'm afraid--I--I don't put my
heart into my work." He did not like to tell her he thought the
neighborhood he lived in was partly to blame.
"Who could put soul into a thing like that?" and he pointed to a cheap
violin he had bought to play to his pupils when he taught them. "Or
that?" and he dropped the lid of his piano to show his contempt for the
tin pan, called by courtesy a concert grand. Miss Husted looked sad;
the ever-present tear was close at hand and Von Barwig saw it coming.
"But, never mind, my dear Miss Husted; all comes right in the end!
It's all for some good or other. I can't see it myself, but I know
it's all for my good. Come! Cheer up, cheer up!" and he looked at her
with such a beatific smile that she thought for the moment that she was
very unhappy and that he was trying to help her.
"Very well, I will," she said resignedly, allowing herself to be
comforted.
That was one of Von Barwig's individual traits. No one ever thought of
cheering him up, for no one knew that he suffered, except perhaps
Jenny. She alone saw through his smile, and felt rather than knew that
it hid a heart torn with suffering and emotion.
A few days after this Von Barwig read in one of the papers that a man
named Van Praag, whom he knew years before in Berlin as a ticket-taker
in one of the theatres, was going to give a series of concerts in one
of the large concert halls in New York. He mustered up courage to go
and see him. Van Praag received him cordially and invited him to
dinner that evening at one of the big hotels. Von Barwig put on his
old dress suit, and Houston Mansion quickly recognised the fact. Miss
Husted especially was most enthusiastic.
"Oh, professor, how well you look!" she cried. "Mrs. Mangenborn, do
come and see the professor with his evening clothes on, he looks a
perfect picture!"
Von Barwig was compelled to leave an hour before the time appointed for
the dinner, in order to escape from the congratulations of his friends.
That night, for the first time in his life, he begged for a position.
He had failed at composing, at teaching, at playing, but surely he
could still conduct an orchestra. The desire for success grew on him
again. Van Praag seemed convinced, and at the end of the dinner, after
taking his address, he promised Von Barwig he would do what he could;
but he must consult the director first, etc., etc.
Von Barwig went home that night almost happy. A pint of champagne at
dinner, with a liqueur afterward, had completely aroused his spirit;
and for the first time in many years he felt quite jovial. He went to
bed but couldn't go to sleep, so he rose and awakened Pinac and Fico
out of their slumbers to tell them the good news, adding that he
intended to engage them for his orchestra. Poons, hearing the sound of
voices in the room next to his, came in, and the men sat talking over
their prospects. Their hopes, their ambitions were about to be
realised, and they talked and smoked the cigars Von Barwig had brought
home with him until sleep was out of the question; they were too
excited to go to bed again. Twice did Miss Husted send up to beg them
to make less noise, as the second floor front, Mrs. Mangenborn, had
complained that her slumbers were being rudely disturbed. So the men
dressed themselves and went down into Von Barwig's rooms, where they
sat till daylight, talking and smoking; after which they all went out
to breakfast at Galazatti's.
As the weeks went by and Von Barwig received no word from Van Praag the
certainty of the engagement died out and became merely a hope. Finally
Von Barwig came to the conclusion that Van Praag had forgotten, and
wrote to him reminding him of his promise. He received no answer to
his letter, and even the hope of getting the engagement died out some
few months after its birth.