Schaaf, who entered the hallway in advance of the professor, responded to
my greeting in his customary gruff, almost suspicious manner, and passed
on, turning down the collar of his overcoat. His heavily bearded face was
as gloomy-looking as ever in the light of the single flickering gaslight.
The professor, although by birth a compatriot of the other, was in
disposition his opposite. In his courteous, almost affectionate way, he
stopped to have a word with me about the coldness of the weather and the
danger of the icy pavements. "I'm t'ankful to be at last home," he said,
showing his teeth with a cordial smile, as he removed the muffler from his
neck, which I thought nature had sufficiently protected with an ample red
beard. "Take my advice, my frient, tempt not de wedder. Stay warm in de
house and I play for you de music of de new opera."
"Thanks for your solicitude," I said, "but I must have my walk. Play to
your sombre friend, Schaaf, and see if you can soften him into geniality.
Good night."
The professor, with his usual kindliness, deprecated my thrust at the
taciturnity of his countryman and confrere, with a gesture and a look of
reproach in his soft gray eyes, and we parted.
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