I watched him until he
disappeared at the first turn of the dingy stairs.
As I passed up the street, where I was in constant peril of losing my
footing, I saw his windows grow feebly alight. He had ignited the gas in
his room, which was that of the professor's sinister friend Schaaf.
My regard for the professor was born of his invariable goodness of heart.
Never did I know him to speak an uncharitable word of any one, while his
practical generosity was far greater than expected of a second violinist.
When I commended his magnanimity he would say, with a smile:
"My frient, you mistake altogedder. I am de most selfish man. Charity
cofers a multitude of sins. I haf so many sins to cofer."
We called him the professor because besides fulfilling his nightly and
matinee duties at the theatre, he gave piano lessons to a few pupils, and
because those of us who could remember his long German surname could not
pronounce it.
One proof of the professor's beneficence had been his rescue of his friend
Schaaf on a bench in Madison Square one day, a recent arrival from Germany,
muttering despondently to himself.
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