For days I thought about her and failed in explanations to myself, of my sudden strange fascination for an unknown name.
The days flew by, and my curiosity to meet and talk with her only increased.
So one cold and gloomy evening I took courage and knocked at her door.
To my surprise the gruff voice of a man bade me enter. I found myself in a small room, blue with smoke and poorly furnished. An old man was cooking supper, as he hummed some weird old gypsy tune. He seemed scarcely to notice me and displayed neither surprise nor dissatisfaction at my sudden appearance. I murmured some excuse about being in the wrong house, that I was looking for Nancy Turner in order to learn about some of the newest dance steps.
And now you know the story of my life, of hers, and of your own, he said with a sigh. Strange that I should have asked your name. And stranger still that you came here as if led by the hand of Fate. But now that we have discovered that we are half brothers I hope you will come often to chat with me, here in this house where we were both born. I will tell you more about our beautiful mother, of her fame when she danced at the opera, of the days long ago when she and my father and I lived here so happily, of the tragedy—but no—let us forget the past. She forgave—therefore our friendship must be without shadow from the start.
THE PAWN-SHOP KEEPER
I am an old man and life has long since lost the glamor it once held for me. The thrills of youth are no more, novelty is a forgotten word, and things that once would have made my heart leap now leave me cold. Old age indeed is in itself a punishment for the follies of youth and sad is it to await alone the coming of death without some loved face near. For one by one the friends of bygone days have dropped by the roadside and I have been left alone to follow my weary way. Happy they who die while still young and do not know the solitude of a lonely old man.