nd contradictory speculations. Questions of life--but did
questions of life ever arise for him? He had reduced it all to its
simplest expression. His little store of money was safely invested, and
he drew the income four times a year. He possessed no goods or chattels
not stowed away in his garret chamber. He owed no man anything; he was
not even a regular professor, tied to his University by a fixed
engagement. In a word, he was perfectly free and untrammelled. To what
end? He worked on from force of habit; but work had long ceased to amuse
him. When had he laughed last? Probably not since his trip on foot to
the Bavarian Highlands, where he had met a witty journalist from Berlin,
with whom he had walked for a couple of days.

This evening he was more weary than usual. He almost thought he would go
away if he could think of any place to go to where life might be more
interesting. He had no relations excepting an uncle, who had emigrated
to America when Claudius was a baby, and who wrote twice a year, with
that regular determination to keep up his family ties which
characterises the true Northman. To this uncle he also wrote regularly
at stated intervals, telling of his quiet student-life. He knew that
this solitary relation was in business in New York, and he inferred from
the regular offers of assistance which came in every letter that he was
in good circumstances,--but that was all. This evening he fell to
thinking about him. The firm was "Barker and Lindstrand," he remembered.
He wondered what Mr. Barker was like. By the by it would soon be
midsummer, and he might expect the half-yearly letter at any time. Not
that it would interest him in the least when it came, but yet he liked
to feel that he was not utterly alone in the world. There was the
postman coming down the street in his leisurely, old-fashioned way,
chatting with the host at the corner and with the tinman two doors off,
and then--yes, he was stopping at Dr. Claudius's door.

The messenger looked up, and, seeing the Doctor at his window, held out
a large envelope.

"A letter for you, Herr Doctor," he cried, and his red nose gleamed in
the evening glow, strongly foreshortened to the Doctor's eye.

"Gleich," replied Claudius, and the yellow head disappeared from the
window, its owner descending to open the door.

As he mounted the dingy staircase Claudius turned the great sealed
envelope over and over in his hand, wondering what could be the
contents.