“What do you wish?”
“Inside that third window is a small boy and he is very ill. I do not think—perhaps he will never be well again. Could you not, now and then, pass the window? It pleases him.”
“Pass the window! But why?”
“In America we see few of our soldiers. He likes to see you and the gun.”
“Ah, the gun!” He smiled and nodded in comprehension, then, as an officer appeared in the door of a coffee- house across the street, he stiffened into immobility and stared past Harmony into space. But the girl knew he would do as she had desired.
That day brought good luck to Harmony. The wife of one of the professors at the hospital desired English conversation at two Kronen an hour.
Peter brought the news home at noon, and that afternoon Harmony was engaged. It was little enough, but it was something. It did much more than offer her two Kronen an hour; it gave her back her self-confidence, although the immediate result was rather tragic.
The Frau Professor Bergmeister, infatuated with English and with Harmony, engaged her, and took her first two Kronen worth that afternoon. It was the day for a music-lesson. Harmony arrived five minutes late, panting, hat awry, and so full of the Frau Professor Bergmeister that she could think of nothing else.
Obedient to orders she had placed the envelope containing her fifty Kronen before the secretary as she went in. The master was out of humor. Should he, the teacher of the great Koert, be kept waiting for a chit of a girl—only, of course, he said “das Kindchen” or some other German equivalent for chit—and then have her come into the sacred presence breathless, and salute him between gasps as the Frau Professor Bergmeister?
Being excited and now confused by her error, and being also rather tremulous with three flights of stairs at top speed, Harmony dropped her bow. In point of heinousness this classes with dropping one’s infant child from an upper window, or sitting on the wrong side of a carriage when with a lady.
The master, thus thrice outraged, rose slowly and glared at Harmony. Then with a lordly gesture to her to follow he stalked to the outer room, and picking up the envelope with the fifty Kronen held it out to her without a word.
Harmony’s world came crashing about her ears. She stared stupidly at the envelope in her hand, at the master’s retreating back.
Two girl students waiting their turn, envelopes in hand, giggled together. Harmony saw them and flushed scarlet. But the lady secretary touched her arm.
“It does not matter, Fraulein. He does so sometimes. Always he is sorry. You will come for your next lesson, not so? and all will be well. You are his well-beloved pupil. To-night he will not eat for grief that he has hurt you.”
The ring of sincerity in the shabby secretary’s voice was unmistakable. Her tense throat relaxed. She looked across at the two students who had laughed. They were not laughing now. Something of fellowship and understanding passed between them in the glance. After all, it was in the day’s work—would come to one of them next, perhaps. And they had much in common—the struggle, their faith, the everlasting loneliness, the little white envelopes, each with its fifty Kronen.
Vaguely comforted, but with the light gone out of her day of days, Harmony went down the three long flights and out into the brightness of the winter day.
On the Ring she almost ran into Peter. He was striding toward her, giving a definite impression of being bound for some particular destination and of being behind time. That this was not the case was shown by the celerity with which, when he saw Harmony, he turned about and walked with her.
“I had an hour or two,” he explained, “and I thought I’d walk. But walking is a social habit, like drinking. I hate to walk alone. How about the Frau Professor?”
“She has taken me on. I’m very happy. But, Dr. Byrne—”
“You called me Peter last night.”
“That was different. You had just proposed to me.”
“Oh, if that’s all that’s necessary—” He stopped in the center of the busy Ring with every evident intention of proposing again.
“Please, Peter!”
“Aha! Victory! Well, what about the Frau Professor Bergmeister?”
“She asks so many questions about America; and I cannot answer them.”
“For instance?”
“Well, taxes now. She’s very much interested in taxes.”
“Never owned anything taxable except a dog—and that wasn’t a tax anyhow; it was a license. Can’t you switch her on to medicine or surgery, where I’d be of some use?”
“She says to-morrow we’ll talk of the tariff and customs duties.”
“Well, I’ve got something to say on that.” He pulled from his overcoat pocket a largish bundle—Peter always bulged with packages—and held it out for her to see. “Tell the Frau Professor Bergmeister with my compliments,” he said, “that because some idiot at home sent me five pounds of tobacco, hearing from afar my groans over the tobacco here, I have passed from mere financial stress to destitution. The Austrian customs have taken from me to-day the equivalent of ten dollars in duty. I offered them the tobacco on bended knee, but they scorned it.”
“Really, Peter?”
“Really.”
Under this lightness Harmony sensed the real anxiety. Ten dollars was fifty Kronen, and fifty Kronen was a
