s Husted. "He gave me his card, but I was so
flustered I didn't look at it."

She opened the reticule she always carried at her side, containing
keys, recipes, receipts, almost everything that could be crowded into
it, and after quite a little sifting and sorting she took out a card on
which was inscribed:

"Herr Anton Von Barwig."

Chapter Five

There was a decided air of mystery about the new occupant of the
parlor-floor suite, or at least so it appeared to Miss Husted of
Houston Street. As a matter of fact, Herr Von Barwig minded his own
business and evidently expected every one else to do likewise, for he
kept his door and his ears closed to all polite advances during the
first few days after his arrival at Houston Mansion. Despite Miss
Husted's oft-repeated inquiries after the professor's health (the title
had been conferred on him by virtue of his possessing a violin and on
the arrival of a piano for his room), despite her endeavours to direct
conversation into a channel which might lead to a discussion of his
personal affairs, Herr Von Barwig remained tacit; hence a mystery
attached itself to the personality of the professor. It is a curious
fact that the one gentleman of genuine title that found his way into
the Houston Street establishment was ruthlessly shorn of his right to
distinction and dubbed professor, which sobriquet clung to him for
many, many years. However, this did not annoy Herr Von Barwig, for he
had not yet realised that in America every concertina and rag-time
piano-player, as well as barber, corn-doctor, and teacher of the manly
art of boxing, is entitled to the distinction of being called professor.

"The professor has beautiful manners--oh, such beautiful manners,"
confided Miss Husted to her new friend, Mrs. Mangenborn, about two
weeks after his arrival. "Every time I speak he bows, and there's oh,
such dignity, such grace in the bending of his head. How polite he is,
too; he always says, 'No, madam, thank you;' or 'yes, if madam will be
so kind,' and then he bows again and waits for me to go."

"Is that all he says?" inquired Mrs. Mangenborn. "I guess he knows how
to keep his mouth shut, then! If you want a man to talk never ask him
questions; men are a suspicious lot."

"Ah, but _he_ is different," said Miss Husted. "He has such a sad,
far-away, wistful look in his noble, dark eyes."

"That may be, but far-away looks don't pay any rent for you! You can't
attach a