That ends the first scene. An interval of nearly five years elapses, and we come to last Saturday. I was walking through the Green Park, when a small but elderly gentleman came up to me.
He said: "Is this the way to the School of Music?"
I said: "Which one do you want? There is the Guildhall School, and the Royal College, and the Royal Academy, and——"
He thought for a moment, and then he said in German the German for "Do you speak German?" (My dear Charles, I can't spell it). I said "Nein."
He considered a little, and said, "Parlez-vous français?" I said—(What's the French for "Not very well"? Well, that's what I said).
At this his face brightened. He drew a long breath, and began:
"I am a Professor of Music at Heidelberg——"
Charles, I had to interrupt him. I simply couldn't help it. I said; "Then you owe me half-a-crown." He stopped, and looked at me with a sort of sad dignity. Then he turned round with a sigh and plodded wearily across the park. And, oh, I do hope he had better luck with somebody else, because he has been at it for five years now, and it must be a heart-breaking life. His hair had gone quite grey since I saw him last.
Charles, you do see that that is a true story, don't you? If I had been making it up, I should have said that he gave me back my own card as a reference. I wonder why he didn't. I suppose it had got rather dirty after five years.
Do you want the other one now? It is the merest anecdote, and Hilda told it me, and I know it's not true.