“Funny name, though for a German,” I remarked carelessly--quite as if the fellow’s patronymic had already formed part of the discussion. “Had to call him something for short,” Marny retorted. “Feudels-Shimmer was what they called him in Rosengarten--Wilhelm Feudels-Shimmer. I tried all of it at first, then I bit off the Shimmer, and then the Wilhelm, and ran him along on Feudels for a while, then it got down to Fuddles, and at last to Fiddles, and there it stuck. Just fitted him, too. All he wanted was a bow, and I furnished that--enough of the devil’s resin to set him going--and out would roll jigs, lullabys, fandangoes, serenades--anything you wanted: anything to which his mood tempted him.” Marny had settled into his chair now, and had stretched his fat legs toward the blaze, his middle distance completely filling the space between the arms. He had pushed himself over many a ledge with this same pair of legs and on this same rotundity, his hand on his Winchester, before his first ball crashed through the shoulder of the big elk whose glass eyes were now looking down upon Fiddles and ourselves--and he would do it again on another big-horn when the season opened. You wouldn’t have thought so had you dropped in upon us and scanned his waist measure, but then, of course, you don’t know Marny. Again Marny’s eyes rested for a moment on the miniature; then he went on: “We were about broke when I painted it,” he said. “There was a fair of some sort in the village, and I got an old frame for half a mark in a pawnshop, borrowed a coat from Fritz, the stableman, squeezed Fiddles into it, stuck a student’s cap on his head, made it look a hundred years old--the frame was all of that--and tried to sell it as a portrait of a ‘Gentleman of the Last Century,’ but it wouldn’t work. Fiddles’s laugh gave it away. ‘Looks like you,’ the old man said. ‘Yes, it’s my brother,’ he blurted out, slapping the dealer on the back.” “Where did you pick Fiddles up?” I asked. “Nowhere,” answered Marny; “he picked me up. That is, the gendarme did who had him by the coat collar.” “‘This fellow insists you know him,’ said the officer of the law. ‘He says that he is honest and that this rabbit’--here he pointed to a pair of long ears sticking out of a game bag--‘is one he shot with the Mayor this morning. Is this true?’