"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 bass 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 passing 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 dink 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 assorted 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
nobody 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-class?" she asked plaintively. She always thought for her dear
professor's comfort.
"Yes, first-class steamer," he replied.
"Why it's a steerage ticket!" she said, looking closely at it.
"Yes, first-class 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.
"Come, think of Jenny, of Poons! New thoughts, new life, a new family!
Now I say good-bye to one or two good neighbours, to Galazatti and the
grocer, and the poor old Schneider. I'll be back, I'll be back," and
Von Barwig put on his cloak and rushed off.
How long Miss Husted sat there at the table she never knew; she was too
stunned to think. Going, her dear professor, going! It could not be
true, she would not believe it! But she had seen his steamship ticket
and there was his trunk. She went over to the little portmanteau and
saw that the key was in the lock. She opened it to see if it was
packed properly. She then noticed the little roll of bills in her hand
and for the first time realised that it was his money she had taken.
"Perhaps it is his last few dollars," she mourned. She stooped down
and secreted the money in one of the pockets of his Prince Albert coat;
then she closed the lid of the portmanteau. As she did so she burst
into a flood of tears, and giving way completely to her feelings, she
knelt by the little trunk and fairly sobbed as if her heart would
break. When Pinac, Fico and Poons returned to their respective rooms
they found her kneeling by the trunk. When they spoke to her she
pretended to be singing a worn-out ditty of years gone by. It struck
the men as being most tearful for a comic song.
It was some time before Miss Husted had sufficiently recovered herself
to knock at Poons's door and inform him that she had withdrawn her
opposition to his marriage with her niece. How she made herself
understood is one of the mysteries and must remain so, but Poons
understood and felt that she was now his friend. With a boyish shout
he seized her around the neck and hugged her so tightly and kissed her
so fervently that her principal curl came near severing its connection
with the portion of her hair that really and truly belonged to her. It
was not until she had slapped his face several times, and told him she
was to be his aunt and not his sweetheart, that he released her, and
even then he insisted on holding her hand and telling her how much he
loved Jenny. So much noise did the boy make that Pinac and Fico rushed
out of their room to find out what was the matter.
Poons's explanation to them was nearly as lucid as his previous effort
to enlighten Miss Husted. He threw his arms around their necks and
kissed them on both cheeks and danced them around the room. He pointed
to Miss Husted and tried to kiss her again, just to show his friends
the relationship between them, but that good lady had had enough of
Poons's osculatory manifestations and indignantly threatened to slap
him again if he tried to carry on with her! Jenny joined them and
there was more explaining and still more kissing. When Von Barwig came
back he found them all in an uproar congratulating each other in mixed
American and Continental fashion. His presence added to the general
joy. He kissed Jenny tenderly and formally gave her to Poons. He
squeezed Miss Husted's hand in silence as he realised that his efforts
on behalf of the young couple had been successful and he shook hands
with his friends.
"It is a day of rejoicing, so let us rejoice!" said Von Barwig, as he
emerged from his little room with a violin bow and some music in his
hand. He then took a ring off his finger. "Poons, here! This ring
was given me by your father twenty-five years ago. Wear it for my
sake! For you, Pinac, my Mendelssohn Concerto. See, here is
Mendelssohn's own signature! Fico, here is my Tuart bow. It is broken
in two places, but it is a fine bow."
"What is all this?" asked Pinac.
"It is my birthday!" replied Von Barwig, slightly at a loss for an
answer.
"Your birthday is next month, Anton," said Fico.
"Well, I celebrate it now! It is my birthday, I celebrate it when I
please. Come, no more questions, let us make this a day of rejoicing!
Come, wish me luck! Your hands in mine, boys, and wish me luck and
God-speed!"
They did not understand, but did as he asked them. Miss Husted and
Jenny understood, and they were sad and silent as they watched the men
wish Von Barwig good luck. As they stood there, clasping each other by
the hands and singing one of their glees, Thurza rushed up stairs and
shouted: "Some one to see Miss Husted." The good lady invited them all
downstairs to her room to have a glass of wine in honour of the
occasion, and disappeared below stairs, followed by the men. Von
Barwig promised to join them later, but now he wanted to be alone.
After they had gone he seated himself by the stove.
"All is finished," he thought. "Hélène is married; a happy marriage.
Jenny and Poons are provided for, so my work is done. To-morrow I
shall be here no longer! Leipsic, once more Leipsic. Heimweh,
Heimweh!"
Although he spoke habitually in English, he thought in the German
language. How strange it all seemed! The music of his last symphony
had been running through his head all morning. He could hear it
plainly.
"I pick up the pieces of my life where I left off," he mused. "Back to
Leipsic I go. How strange it will seem after all these years?" Home,
home; the thought soothed him. He was tired out, for he had been awake
since early dawn and the food he had eaten and the warm glow of the
fire on his face made him drowsy. With the music of his last symphony
echoing in his mind, the old man fell asleep.