poor children?" he asked anxiously.

With a deep blush, Corsini assured him that they had a lodging to go
to; he did not dare to give him the address. Dean Street was a
comparatively aristocratic abode. Papa Peron's humbly furnished room
seemed a Paradise. And the piano was good--that must have been saved
from the prosperous day--and was his own. No Soho landlady would
provide such a piano as that.

Peron shook them warmly by the hand. "You must come and see me
to-morrow. I shall be in all the morning. I shall think things over
between now and then. I am a poor man myself, but I may be able to
help you with introductions. I must get you out of these miserable
streets."

They walked home, wondering about Papa Peron. Who could he be? Anita
inclined to the belief that he was a miser. Nello had his doubts.

Still very hungry, they bought some sausages on their way home and
devoured them before they went to bed. They still had a substantial
balance on hand, according to the thrifty Anita.

And the next morning, Nello was round at Dean Street to learn what
Papa Peron had thought of in the meanwhile.

CHAPTER II

The old Frenchman had heard Corsini's knock at the door. He stood at
the entrance to his shabby sitting-room, the only article of furniture
being the piano, his kind old lined face illumined with smiles.

"Courage, my young friend. I did not sleep very well after the
excitement of your visit. Inspiration came to me in the middle of the
night. You see that letter?" He pointed to a small desk standing
against the wall. "Go and see to whom it is addressed."

Nello obeyed him. His eyes sparkled as he read the name on the
envelope. "Mr. Gay, the leader of the orchestra at the Parthenon."

Papa Peron nodded his leonine head, bristling with its snow-white
locks. "A friend of mine. He is a composer as well as _chef
d'orchestre_. I have corrected many of his proof sheets for a firm I
work for."

Corsini pricked up his ears at this statement. He and his sister had
been curious as to the old man's profession. The mystery was solved.
He was no miser, no millionaire, just a music publisher's hack. And
once, according to his own statement, he had been a famous pianist,
with a renown equal to that of Bauquel.

"I have asked him to give you the first vacancy in his orchestra. He
will do it to oblige me, for I have helped him a little--given him
some ideas. It is one of the best theatre orchestras in London. The