Von Barwig bowed. He had not the slightest idea what Mr. Costello was talking about, but he knew it was advice of some sort and that he must appear to be grateful.
After shaking hands with Von Barwig and making a few passing inquiries as to the night professor's health Mr. Costello came to the direct object of his visit.
"The members of my bloomin', blink house," began Mr. Costello in his most ponderous manner, "want me to present you with this—er—token, as a memento and a souvenir and a memorial of the occasion, in which our night professor gave us the grand shake, or words to that effect. I can't remember the exact hinkey dink they gave me; but, professor, it amounts to this," and Mr. Costello unwrapped the parcel he had so carefully brought upstairs with him. "This loving cup is a token of the regard and esteem in which you are held by us in general, and me and my wife in particular. And I can tell you my wife is particular, very particular," added Mr. Costello sententiously. "Here, take it!" and the Bowery Museum proprietor thrust a large pewter water pitcher into Von Barwig's hands.
The old man was quite surprised and not a little affected. This new proof of the affection of the poor, unfortunate creatures who made their afflictions the means of earning their livelihood touched him to the very heart, and for a moment he was unable to find words to express his feelings.
Mr. Costello lit a cigar.
Von Barwig looked at the water pitcher and then at Costello and began: "Mr. Costello, and—and—" he paused.
"Freaks," prompted Costello.
"No, no!" interposed Von Barwig quickly. "No, not freaks! Ladies and gentlemen of the Curio Salon."
"Very neatly put, but they'd get a swelled head if they heard it," broke in Costello, puffing on his cigar.
"I accept your gift with—with great—great pleasure," went on Von Barwig; "with more pleasure than I can say!"