gold-rimmed glasses gave sparklingly forth his estate of
well-being.

"Abrahm, didn't I tell you not to dare to--"

On excited balls of feet that fairly bounced him, Abrahm Kantor burst
in.

"Leon--mamma--I got out here an old friend--Sol Ginsberg--you remember,
mamma, from brasses--"

"Abrahm--not now--"

"Go way with your 'not now!' I want Leon should meet him. Sol, this is
him--a little grown-up from such a _Nebich_ like you remember him--_nu_?
Sarah, you remember Sol Ginsberg? Say--I should ask you if you remember
your right hand? Ginsberg & Esel, the firm. This is his girl, a five
years' contract signed yesterday--five hundred dollars an opera for a
beginner--six roles--not bad--_nu_?"

"Abrahm, you must ask Mr. Ginsberg please to excuse Leon until after his
concert--"

"Shake hands with him, Ginsberg. He's had his hand shook enough in his
life, and by kings, too--shake it once more with an old bouncer like
you!"

Mr. Ginsberg, not unlike his colleague in rotundities, held out a short,
a dimpled hand.

"It's a proud day," he said, "for me to shake the hands from mine old
friend's son and the finest violinist living to-day. My little
daughter--"

"Yes, yes, Gina. Here shake hands with him. Leon, they say a voice like
a fountain. Gina Berg--eh, Ginsberg--is how you stage-named her? You
hear, mamma, how fancy--Gina Berg? We go hear her, eh?"

There was about Miss Gina Berg, whose voice could soar to the
tirra-lirra of a lark and then deepen to mezzo, something of the actual
slimness of the poor, maligned Elsa so long buried beneath the buxomness
of divas. She was like a little flower that in its crannied nook keeps
dewy longest.

"How do you do, Leon Kantor?"

There was a whir through her English of three acquired languages.

"How do _you_ do?"

"We--father and I--travelled once all the way from Brussels to Dresden
to hear you play. It was worth it. I shall never forget how you played
the 'Humoresque.' It made me laugh and cry."

"You like Brussels?"

She laid her little hand to her heart, half closing her eyes.

"I will never be so happy again as with the sweet little people of
Brussels."

"I, too, love Brussels. I studied there four years with Ahrenfest."

"I know you did. My teacher, Lyndahl, in Berlin, was his
brother-in-law."

"You have studied with Lyndahl?"

"He is my master."

"I--will I sometime hear you sing?"

"I am not yet great. When I am foremost like you, yes."

"Gin