Fico took three or four of the tickets. "From Anton; yes," and then he sighed and shook his head.
The men knew Von Barwig was poor, but they had no idea to what extent his poverty had reached.
"His cuckoo clock: nine dollars!" read Fico.
"That was the first thing I missed—that cuckoo, evenings," sighed Miss Husted.
"Mozart, gone!" almost shouted Pinac, pointing to the spot on the wall where that musician's portrait had once reposed. "And Beethoven! And where is Gluck?" Then looking around: "Nom de Dieu! even his metronome have gone—his metronome! Dieu, Dieu!"
"I should say it was dear, dear!" said Miss Husted, who slightly misunderstood Pinac.
And so the truth dawned upon them. For months, for years he had deceived them with his smile, his optimism, his gay manner and cheery word, and above all by the open-hearted manner in which he gave away to all who came to him.
"All these years has Professor Von Barwig been in my house and he has paid me like a gentleman. He pays me now, how does he do it? Oh, dear!" Miss Husted tried hard not to cry, but the tears would come. The men looked on sadly; they had always accepted his bounty, and now they were reproaching themselves.
Miss Husted's feelings made her reminiscent, and when she was reminiscent she invariably exaggerated—in retrospect she saw everything as she would have liked it to have been. "When he first came here what a man he was! And this, what a neighbourhood then, an elegant residential district. I had a position then, I could recommend him; everybody knew Miss Houston of Houston Street." In spite of her sorrow she felt proud of the past.
The men looked at each other. They had heard this for the past fifteen years. It meant a long session and they wanted to practise their music; so Pinac merely nodded, and Fico shook his head gravely.