with him for his beautiful smile of resignation as he folded
up his package of compositions and went sadly away. They admired his
technical skill, but thought him very foolish to waste his time on such
"stuff" as they called it. They advised him to write for the hour, and
not for posterity.

"You must give the public what they want," said Schumein.

"How can you tell what they want if you don't try?" pleaded Von Barwig.
"If you give them only what you acknowledge is bad, how will they ever
know what is better?"

"It's no use," was Schumein's reply, "music like yours has no market
value. We're not in business for our health; once strike a popular
tune and you'll be famous!"

Von Barwig had never mentioned his Leipsic reputation, and if he had,
in all probability, it would have been useless. Seven years is a long
time for even a genius to remain in obscurity.

"Bring in a good waltz," said one.

"What we want is a catchy melody; something that everybody whistles,"
said another.

Finally they were too busy to see Von Barwig at all; and after waiting
hours and hours in vain efforts to obtain an interview, he would walk
home slowly, thinking over the events of the day, or trying to create a
tune that might make an appeal to the music-loving, or rather
music-buying public.

"Alas!" he would say to himself, after giving up the effort. "I do not
understand these people. The American people do not like my work." It
did not occur to him that the Americans were not a music-loving nation,
at least not at that period. And so Anton Von Barwig gradually came
out of the world of dreams into the world of life. He had been reborn,
of necessity, for he was nearly down to his last penny. He used to
talk over the condition of the music market with Tagliafico, our old
friend, Fico, of the hall bedroom on the top floor of Miss Husted's
establishment, and Pinac, Fico's friend, who occupied the room
adjoining. The meeting of these three men, which subsequently resulted
in a friendship lasting many years, came about as follows:

While eating dinner at Galazatti's one night, Von Barwig found himself
at the same table as Fico. Fico bowed to him and he graciously
acknowledged his salute, not knowing who the man was, but vaguely
remembering his features. Fico then introduced Pinac, his
fellow-lodger. Fico had recognised Von Barwig as the occupant of the
first floor and took this opportunity of making the acquaintance of the