a place in the
kingdom for those who had fought for it. The cry was for the young. And
even in the first twenty-four hours a subtle change went on in him. His
loyalty, on which he had built his creed of life, turned to bitterness.

The first day of his idleness he wandered into the back room of the
cobbler's shop near by, where the butter-seller from the corner, the
maker of artificial flowers for graves, and the cobbler himself were
gathered, and listened without protest to such talk as would have roused
him once to white anger.

But the iron had not yet gone very deep, and one thing he would not
permit. It was when, in the conversation, one of them attacked the King.
Then indeed he was roused to fury.

"A soldier and a gentleman," he said. "For him I lost this leg of mine,
and lost it without grieving. When I lay in the hospital he himself
came, and--"

A burst of jeering laughter greeted this, for he had told it many times.
Told it, because it was all he had instead of a leg, and although he
could not walk on it, certainly it had supported him through many years.

"As for the little Crown Prince," he went on firmly, "I have seen him
often. He came frequently to the Opera. He has a fine head and a bright
smile. He will be a good king."

But this was met with silence.

Once upon a time a student named Haeckel had occasionally backed him up
in his defense of the royal family. But for some reason or other Haeckel
came no more, and old Adelbert missed him. He had inquired for him
frequently.

"Where is the boy Haeckle?" he had asked one day. "I have not seen him
lately."

No one had replied. But a sort of grim silence settled over the little
room. Old Adelbert, however, was not discerning.

"Perhaps, as a student, he worked too hard" he had answered his own
question. "They must both work and play hard, these students. A fine lot
of young men. I have watched them at the Opera. Most of them preferred
Italian to German music."

But, that first day of idleness, when he had left the cobbler's, he
resolved not to return. They had not been unfriendly, but he had seen at
once there was a difference. He was no longer old Adelbert of the Opera.
He was an old man only, and out of work.

He spent hours that first free afternoon repairing his frayed linen and
his shabby uniform, with his wooden leg stretched out before him and his
pipe clutched firmly in his teeth. Then, freshly shaved and brushed, he
started on a pai