, for he has money to burn and invests it freely.

An obliging bar-maid introduces him to her lovely cousin and they
retire to a lonely seat in the most secluded spot of the garden.

"Herr von Beerstein" now places his heart and purse in the keeping of
his gentle companion, who calls directly for "zwei beers."

Now follows a repetition of the old, old legend that yet is always new
and ever recurring in the romance of mutual love on sight, two hearts
beating as one and in the love that laughs at locksmiths, but as the
course of true love seldom runs smooth, now with the maiden's oft
repeated calls for "lager" "Herr von Beerstein" grows by stages
sentimental, incautious and then so reckless that "presto!" before he
is aware of any danger to himself he has stopped Cupid's fatal dart
with his royal personal circumference. Maddened with pain he exhibits
symptoms of a most violent passion and becomes very aggressive. But the
cunning maid appeals to the protecting presence of Fritz, the waiter,
with other calls for beer, whispering in the ear of her love-lorn
swain: "Nine, mine lieber Herr von Beerstein, ven you has married me
once alretty, nicht wahr? Ach vas, den shall you kiss me yet some more,
yaw!"

Thus she tantalizes the poor man until he becomes desperate under the
strain of an unrequited love and as a last resort he places his hand
over his heart, bares the bosom of his shirt and exposes the insignia
of royalty, flashing the sovereign's star before her eyes. Humbly,
overcome with shame and remorse at the thought of having trifled with
her king's affections, and prompted by her pitiful exaggerated notion
of loyalty the poor thing kneels before his majesty, craving his pardon.

With royal hands the king uplifts her, graciously kissing her rosebud
mouth and when she says: "Your majesty's slightest wish is a command to
me, your servant!" and is about to surrender her loveliness to Cupid's
forces and temporarily lose her heart, but her soul forever--in the
very nick of time comes her guardian-angel to the rescue.

When she, poor little gray dove, lies trembling in the royal falcon's
talons a head rises up and peeps over the fence, for the royal star has
been seen through a crack between the boards, its knowing, sly grin
passing into the lusty shout:

"Heil dem koenig, hoch, hoch!"

An excited crowd rushes from all directions, cheering: "Ein, zwei,
drei, hurrah!" while a constable places the damsel under arrest,
ch