tribes of Austria-Hungary have spilled
here a thick lather of their effervescent sons. In the eccentric
cafes and lodging-houses of the vicinity they hover over their native
wines and political secrets. The colony changes with much frequency.
Faces disappear from the haunts to be replaced by others. Whither do
these uneasy birds flit? For half of the answer observe carefully the
suave foreign air and foreign courtesy of the next waiter who serves
your table d'hote. For the other half, perhaps if the barber shops
had tongues (and who will dispute it?) they could tell their share.

Titles are as plentiful as finger rings among these transitory
exiles. For lack of proper exploitation a stock of title goods large
enough to supply the trade of upper Fifth Avenue is here condemned
to a mere pushcart traffic. The new-world landlords who entertain
these offshoots of nobility are not dazzled by coronets and crests.
They have doughnuts to sell instead of daughters. With them it is a
serious matter of trading in flour and sugar instead of pearl powder
and bonbons.

These assertions are deemed fitting as an introduction to the tale,
which is of plebeians and contains no one with even the ghost of a
title.

Katy Dempsey's mother kept a furnished-room house in this oasis of
the aliens. The business was not profitable. If the two scraped
together enough to meet the landlord's agent on rent day and
negotiate for the ingredients of a daily Irish stew they called it
success. Often the stew lacked both meat and potatoes. Sometimes it
became as bad as consomme with music.

In this mouldy old house Katy waxed plump and pert and wholesome and
as beautiful and freckled as a tiger lily. She was the good fairy who
was guilty of placing the damp clean towels and cracked pitchers of
freshly laundered Croton in the lodgers' rooms.

You are informed (by virtue of the privileges of astronomical
discovery) that the star lodger's name was Mr. Brunelli. His wearing
a yellow tie and paying his rent promptly distinguished him from the
other lodgers. His raiment was splendid, his complexion olive, his
mustache fierce, his manners a prince's, his rings and pins as
magnificent as those of a traveling dentist.

He had breakfast served in his room, and he ate it in a red dressing
gown with green tassels. He left the house at noon and returned
at midnight. Those were mysterious hours, but there was nothing
mysterious about Mrs. Dempsey's lodgers except