brought back his rheumatism; he got permission to
sit indoors. The old wheel lay idle in the corner; he was hungry, and
his pipe had been empty for a day and a night, but still he sat bolt
upright, in pain, alone, with starvation staring him in the face. The
third day of his involuntary fast he got a letter. It contained a
one-dollar bill. The sender was watching at a safe distance, and he
recorded that the Graf's puzzled look almost developed into a smile.
He gathered himself together and hobbled out to a near-by German
saloon. Next day came the first sign of surrender. He accepted a
commission to take a census of the house. This at least helped to thaw
him out, but it didn't last long.

Because his rheumatism prevented him from pushing his wheel through
the streets, I secured him a corner in a locksmith's basement. He had
not been there many weeks when he disappeared. The locksmith told a
story which seemed scarcely credible. He said the old Graf had sold
his wheel and given the proceeds to an Irishwoman to help defray the
funeral expenses of her child.

Some months later, Allen, the clerk, got a postal-card from One-eyed
Dutchy. He was on the Island, and the Graf and he were working
together on the ash gang. I helped to get him off the Island--at his
own urgent solicitation. I myself considered him much better off where
he was.

When the Graf returned to the bunk-house, every one who had ever seen
him noted a wonderful change. He no longer lived in a shell. He had
become human, and took an interest in what was going on. One night,
when a few of the Ex-Club were exchanging reminiscences, he was
prevailed upon to tell his story. He asked us to keep it a secret for
ten years. The time is up, and I am the only one of that group alive.

_The Tale of the Old German Noble_

"In 1849 it was; my brother and I students were in Heidelberg. Then
broke out the Revolution. Two years less of age was I, so to him was
due my father's title and most of the estate. 'What is revolution?'
five of us students asked. 'We know not; we will study,' we all said,
and we did. For King and fatherland our study make us jealous, but my
brother was not so.

"'I am revolutionist!' he says, and we are mad to make him different.

"'The King is one,' he said, 'and the people are many, and they are
oppressed.'

"I hate my brother, and curse him, till in our room he weeps for
sorrow. I curse him until he leaves.

"By and by in the barricade