to some of his friends that
the recipient of the letter was a real German Graf.

He was about sixty years of age, short, rotund, corpulent. His head
was bullet-shaped and set well down on his shoulders. His clothes were
baggy and threadbare, his linen soiled and shabby. He had blue eyes,
harsh red hair, and a florid complexion. When he arrived, he brought
three valises. Everybody wondered what he could have in them.

The bouncer was consumed with a desire to examine the contents, and,
as bouncer and general floor-manager of the house, expected that they
would naturally be placed under his care. When, however, it was
announced that the newcomer had engaged "One-eyed Dutchy" as his
valet, the bouncer swore, and said "he might go to ----."

There was something peculiar and mysterious in a ten-cent guest of the
Bismarck hiring a valet. The Germans called him Graf von Habernichts.
He kept aloof from the crowd. He had no friends and would permit no
one to establish any intercourse with him.

His valet informed an intimate friend that the Graf received a check
from Germany every three months. While it lasted, it was the valet's
duty to order, pay for, and keep a record of all food and refreshment.
When the bouncer told me of these things, I tried very hard to
persuade the Graf to dine at my house; but he declined without even
the formality of thanks. After a few months, the revenue of the
mysterious stranger dried up and "One-eyed Dutchy" was discharged.

A snowstorm found the old Graf with an attack of rheumatism, and
helpless. Then he was forced to relinquish his ten-cent cot and move
upstairs to a seven-cent bunk. When he was able to get out again, he
came back dragging up the rickety old stairs a scissors-grinder.
Several of the guests offered a hand, but he spurned them all, and
stuck to his job until he got it up.

Another snowstorm 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 voluntary 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 nearby German
saloon. Next day came the first sign of surrender. He accepted a
commi