Of the Rockhaven Granite Company collapse they knew not, for daily papers never reached the island, and Jess for reasons of his own kept silent.
The only unhappy one, however, was David Moore; and he recited his woes in characteristic fashion to all who would listen. He had little idea of the proprieties, and as he had almost shouted his love from the house-tops, so now he declared his disappointment as loudly.
"It's my private 'pinion," he asserted, "they lugged Mona off just to spite me and get her out o' my sight. I think it's a darn mean trick, and I don't care who knows it! I kin see through the game, and they calculated takin' her to the city 'nd give that feller Hardy a chance to spark her," and he chewed his quid with an increased vigor, suggestive of how he would like to serve his rival.
CHAPTER XLI
EIN WUNDERBARES FRAULEIN
Fritz Geisling, who for many years had lived in two rooms, second floor, No. 10 Amity Place, was short, fat, and bald. Each morning he arose at seven, went out to an adjoining cafe where German cookery was served "twenty-one meals for three dollars," as stated on its bill of fare, and returned to his domicile, glancing at the small sign, "Violin Lessons," placed above the upper bell, and mounting the two flights of stairs, awaited in his office, sitting room and parlor combined, the few pupils who came his way. At noon he absorbed another of the "twenty-one for three dollar" productions of culinary art, washed down with a stein of foaming beer, and then, if it were matinée day at the Alhambra Temple of Vaudeville, betook himself thither, where he played second violin. Each evening, from the opening in September until closing time in June, he was at his post, sawing away like the machine he was and as devoid of sentiment. When he escaped the Alhambra, it was to join his cronies in a convenient saloon where pinocle, beer, and choice Teutonic gossip relieved the monotony of his existence. Year in and year out he was the same phlegmatic, good-natured Dutchman, and lived the same unvarying and emotionless existence. Of the great Rockhaven stock scheme he had never heard, and would not have understood it if he had. Of "the street" and its multiplicity of deals where "to do" the other fellow and not let him "do" you was the golden rule, he was equally innocent—a drop in the throbbing artery of human existence.
And then, one winter morning, Fritz returned to his lair to find awaiting him a strangely clad man and a young half-scared girl.
"I'm told ye gin lessons on the fiddle," said the man, "an' if ye do, I've come to engage ye fer this ere gal."
Fritz bowed low, conscious that a pair of magnificent eyes were watching him.