d the new comer, and the greeting he
vouchsafed him sounded more like the growl of a watch dog, than any
human tone.

Edwin was no more disposed to talk. He stood behind his brother's chair
a moment, stroked his thick hair several times, and then went to his
desk, where he apparently began to read the newspapers. Once, however,
he turned toward the chess players and said: "It would probably be
better, Heinrich, if you would sacrifice your tobacco, which smells
horribly, on the altar of friendship. The time for open windows is
over, and Balder has already coughed three times."

Mohr instantly opened the window and tossed the cigarette into the
courtyard.

Then all four were silent, until Balder rose saying: "A wooden king
can't be expected to be checkmated more than five times. Besides, it's
a hopeless task to play with you. You're a master of the art."

"Then I _am_ good for something!" laughed Mohr scornfully as he tossed
the little pieces Balder had turned into the box. "Master of an art in
which persons of the least brains are often the greatest virtuosos.
Nay, it is still a question whether a talent for chess is not a sort of
disease, a hypertrophy of the power of conbination. You see, Edwin, I,
for instance--if this organ were in a normal state--should have made
more progress in my play. I plan the finest chess problems through five
acts, and when I afterwards examine them narrowly, they are mere wooden
figures, no living creatures. Basta! I vow not to touch knight or
bishop for a month, until I have arranged my comedy."

He emptied his glass and then slowly poured the remainder of the wine
from the bottle into it. "Good evening, Edwin," said he. "We've not had
the pleasure of seeing you in the 'tun,' for a long time. Even to-day
your thoughts seem to be far away--like our worthy philanthropist's,
who has not spoken ten words since he's been here."

The printer rose from his seat with a violent jerk, passed both hands
through his bushy hair and said: "It's true: I'm perfectly aware that
I've long been a tiresome guest here. Therefore--and for one other
reason--I hope our _feelings_ are still the same--"

"What fancy have you taken into your head now?" said Edwin, still
absorbed in his newspaper.

Balder had limped up to Franzelius and grasped his hand. "I was going
to ask you, Reinhold," he said in an undertone, "to come some day in
the morning; you will then find me alone, and I should like to say
someth