and coughed himself into a strangling fit over his
joke--he thought it was a joke--and then he sharply cried out:

"You may kiss me, and play for me." I was too frightened to reply, so I
went up to him and didn't like him. He smelt of cigarettes and liquor,
but I kissed him on the forehead, and he gave me a queer look and pushed
me to the piano. Well, I was flabbergasted.

"Play," he said, as harsh as could be, and I dashed off the Military
Polonaise of Chopin. He walked about the whole time humming out loud,
and never paid any attention to me any more than if I hadn't been
playing. When I got to the trio I stuck, and he burst out laughing, so I
stopped short.

"Aha! you girls and your teachers, how you, all swindle yourselves. You
have no talent, no touch, nothing, nothing!"--his voice was like a
screaming whistle--"and yet you cheat yourselves and run to Europe to be
artists in a year, aha!" "Shall I go on?" I asked. I was getting mad.
"No, I've heard enough. Come to the class every Monday and Thursday
morning at ten--mind you, ten sharp--and in the meantime study this
piece of mine, 'The Five Blackbirds,' for the black keys, and take the
first book of my 'Indispensable Studies for Stupid American Girls.'" He
laughed again.

"You pay now for the music. I make no discount, for I print it myself.
Your lessons you pay for one by one. Please put the money--twenty
marks--on the mantelpiece when you are through playing, but don't tell
me. I'm too nervous. And now good-day; practise ten hours every day.
You may kiss me good-by. No? Well, next time. I hate American girls when
they play; but I like to kiss them, for they are very pretty. Wait: I
will introduce you to my wife." He rang a bell and barked something at a
servant, and she returned followed by a nice-looking German lady, quite
young. I was surprised. "My wife." We bowed and then I left.

Funny people, these foreigners. I take my lesson day after to-morrow and
I must hurry home to my Blackbirds. Good-by, dear Bella, and tell the
girls to write. You answer this soon and I'll write after lesson on
Monday. Good-by, Bella. Don't show my ma this letter, and, Bella--say
nothing to nobody about the kisses. I didn't like--now if it had
been--you know--oh, dear. I hate the piano. Good-by at last, Bella, and
oh, Bella, will you send me the address of Schaefer, Schloss &
Cantwell's? I want to order some writing paper. Good-by.

Your devoted IRENE.

P.S.--Any kind