ied by Pinac, Fico
and Poons, and the fourth Von Barwig took possession of. They all
begged him to take their rooms, but he shook his head and smiled and
they knew it was useless to ask him, so the skylight musketeers, as
they called themselves, had complete possession of the hall, which
served them as a common parlour.

It was roomy and airy in the summer, but draughty and cold in the
winter; as it was now warm weather, Von Barwig and his friends did not
suffer any inconvenience at this time. The men did not see much of
each other in these days. Pinac and Fico had secured engagements on an
excursion steamboat that plied its way to Coney Island and back. They
were away all day, and when they came back late at night Von Barwig was
at the Museum. He saw more of Poons than he did of the others, for
that young man had no regular engagement, but played now and then as
substitute in one of the downtown theatre orchestras, so he just about
managed to eke out an existence on a cash basis, and the three older
men were as proud of this fact as if he were their own son. Von Barwig
was strangely happy; he took no interest whatever in his physical
existence. His immediate surroundings, the people he saw, the food he
ate, made no mental impression upon him. Life was a mechanical
process, a routine existence to him till midday, when he would, to
quote his own words, "begin to live," that is, he would start uptown on
his walk to Fifty-seventh Street. Rain or shine he would not ride, for
the motion of riding on the bumpy stages interfered with the flow of
his thoughts. "Now begins my day," he would say to himself as he
started on his journey to his pupil's house, some four or five miles
from Miss Husted's establishment. The old man was happy; happy in
going, happy when there, happy when thinking that the next day he would
see her again. So when, for the third successive time, in as many
days, Joles informed him that Miss Stanton was not at home, Von Barwig
experienced a feeling of disappointment accompanied by a sense of fear.

"She--Miss Stanton is well?" faltered he to the dignified Mr. Joles,
who was regarding him with a haughty expression, not unaccompanied with
disdain.

"I beg your pardon!" said Joles in anything but an apologetic manner.

"Miss Stanton is well?" repeated Von Barwig.

"Oh, yes," replied Joles. "Indeed, yes." His answer intended to
convey to Von Barwig that such a question was entirely unnecessar