"Jenkins is here." I heard my voice saying at the other end of the line. "What'll I do with him?"
"Send him to--ah--Hoboken, will you?" I returned, in a shrill falsetto. "But you have the better of it, my dear. He's not a marker to Jones. What have you done with the specialties?"
"Buying! buying! buying!" cried Caroline, in a triumphant basso that froze my blood. "Rogers gave me an inside tip, as he calls it. It was awfully nice of him, wasn't it?"
"Damn Rogers!" I exclaimed.
"Good-bye!" cried Caroline, with righteous indignation, and my attempt to call her back was futile.
My heart was heavy as I made my way, slowly and clumsily, from the library. Buttons, as bad luck would have it, had just opened the front door to a black-eyed, long-haired little man, who carried a roll of music under his arm. As I hesitated, hoping to make good my retreat to the library, Professor Von Gratz--as he proved to be--hurried toward me. If he was amazed at my costume, he managed to control his mobile face and musical voice.
"Oh, madame, I am zo glad to zee you are eager for de lezzon!" he exclaimed, bowing almost down to his knees. "Ve vill haf grade muzic, nicht war? You vill blay de vonderful Opuz 22! Beethoven, de giant among de pygmies, vill open de gates of baradize to us. It vill be beautiful. You are ready, madame?"
My bosom rose and fell with a conflict of emotions. I felt an almost irresistible longing to throw this detestable little foreigner out of the house. The sudden realization that my biceps, etc., were at my office cooled my ardor for action, and I said, presently, marveling at my own ingenuity:
"I regret to say--ah--Professor, that my doctor has put me upon a very slim musical diet. He says that--ah--Beethoven is ruining my nerves. But if you want to sing 'Danny Deever,' come into the music-room. I think I could manage to knock out the accompaniment."
Von Gratz stared at me in most apparent agitation, pulling at his horrid little black goatee with his left hand.