had heard it hundreds of times, but now its weird,
metallic tone jarred on the harmony of his feelings. He counted the
strokes; five, six, seven, eight. Eight o'clock! He started up, for
his dream had come to an end, and he came back to earth again, back
into the world of Houston Street, back to the Bowery, to Costello, to
the Museum, to his nightly labour for his daily bread. Mechanically he
changed his velvet jacket for his street dress, and hastily put on his
cape coat and hat. "No, it's not a dream!" he told himself, as he read
the card she had given him. "Miss Helene Stanton, Fifth Avenue and
Fifty-seventh Street." He put the card carefully in his pocket-book
and placing his violin case under his arm started to go out. Then
remembering that the lamp was still burning, he went back and carefully
turned it out.

"Fifth Avenue, and Fifty-seventh Street," he said to himself;
"to-morrow at three, to-morrow at three."

He went into the street and the noise and bustle of the Bowery jarred
upon his sensitive ear. "To-morrow at three," he joyfully sang to
himself. "To-morrow at three!" But high above the din and rattle of
traffic and street noises, high above Von Barwig's song, rang out
Costello's voice as if to drown his happiness.

"Eat 'em alive," it said. "Eat 'em alive; eat 'em alive!" Von Barwig
heard it; shuddered, and sang no more. "Eat 'em alive," he muttered
mournfully to himself. "Eat 'em alive--eat 'em alive."

Chapter Fifteen

Von Barwig arose at daybreak, for a great hope had come to him. At
last life held out a promise; of what he knew not. He only knew that
he experienced a sensation of joy, and his great, loving heart throbbed
in response. His cheerfulness communicated itself to his friends
upstairs, for they came into his room and insisted on his accompanying
them to breakfast at Galazatti's. They were all in high spirits.
Pinac and Fico were determined to let him see that the loss of their
positions had not caused them any uneasiness.

"Bah! we get the engagement back again," laughed Fico.

Pinac snapped his fingers. "The _cafe_! Pouf, pouf, pouf!"

Poons grinned amiably. He had been warned by the others, notably by
Pinac in very bad German, not to let Von Barwig see that they felt down
in the mouth. He kept a smile on his face when he thought of it, and
was exceedingly sorrowful when he didn't; so the expression on his face
altered from time to time, much to Von Bar