pay, alas! will not be good, but it will take you out of those
miserable streets. Go to his private address this morning; I am sure
he will see you at once."

"How can I thank you?" began the young man; but Peron stopped him with
an imperious wave of his long, thin hand.

"Tut, tut, my child! I want no thanks. I have taken a fancy to you and
that dear little sister of yours. Now, listen; I have another scheme
on hand."

Rapidly the genial old man unfolded his plans.

"In my room there are two beds. The landlady has a little attic to
let, by no means a grand apartment, but it will serve for your sister.
You can share my room. Three people can live almost as cheaply as
two." There was a knowing smile on the wrinkled face, as the genial
Papa enunciated this profound economic truth. "Come and live here. You
can practise on the violin while I play your accompaniments."

"But Monsieur, at the moment, we have no money," stammered the
embarrassed violinist. "Mr. Gay may not have a vacancy for some little
time."

Papa Peron frowned ever so little. He did not easily brook
contradiction. "You are making difficulties where none exist. You must
lodge somewhere. My landlady only asks five shillings a week for the
attic. You share my bedroom and sitting-room. As for the food, you
will be my guests till you earn something. Do not say me nay," he
ended fiercely. "I am resolved that you shall play no more in those
miserable gutters. It is finished. You come here to-night."

There was no resisting this imperious old man with the frail figure
and the snow-white abundant hair. Nello promised that he and his
sister would move into Dean Street that afternoon. In the meantime, he
would take the letter of introduction to Mr. Gay, who had lodgings in
Gower Street, no great distance.

Mr. Gay was a fat, rubicund man with a somewhat faded and slatternly
wife. He read Peron's note and a genial smile lit up his massive face.

"Good!" he cried heartily. "My old friend vouches for you, and you
have come in the very nick of time. One of my men is leaving in a
couple of days--got a better berth. You can take his place. But before
we settle, you may as well give me a taste of your quality. We go in
for rather high-class music at the Parthenon. Play me Gounod's 'Ave
Maria,' I always test a man with that."

He called to the slatternly woman who was crouching over the fire.
"Ada, please go to the piano and play the accompaniment for this young