Fritz Geisling, who for many years had lived in two rooms, second floor, No. 10 Amity Place, was short, fat, and bald. Each morning he arose at seven, went out to an adjoining cafe where German cookery was served "twenty-one meals for three dollars," as stated on its bill of fare, and returned to his domicile, glancing at the small sign, "Violin Lessons," placed above the upper bell, and mounting the two flights of stairs, awaited in his office, sitting room and parlor combined, the few pupils who came his way. At noon he absorbed another of the "twenty-one for three dollar" productions of culinary art, washed down with a stein of foaming beer, and then, if it were matinee day at the Alhambra Temple of Vaudeville, betook himself thither, where he played second violin. Each evening, from the opening in September until closing time in June, he was at his post, sawing away like the machine he was and as devoid of sentiment. When he escaped the Alhambra, it was to join his cronies in a convenient saloon where pinocle, beer, and choice Teutonic gossip relieved the monotony of his existence. Year in and year out he was the same phlegmatic, good-natured Dutchman, and lived the same unvarying and emotionless existence. Of the great Rockhaven stock scheme he had never heard, and would not have understood it if he had. Of "the street" and its multiplicity of deals where "to do" the other fellow and not let him "do" you was the golden rule, he was equally innocent--a drop in the throbbing artery of human existence. And then, one winter morning, Fritz returned to his lair to find awaiting him a strangely clad man and a young half-scared girl. "I'm told ye gin lessons on the fiddle," said the man, "an' if ye do, I've come to engage ye fer this ere gal." Fritz bowed low, conscious that a pair of magnificent eyes were watching him. "It vash mine broveshion," he answered, "und von tollar each ish de brice. Ish de lady to be de pupils?" "She's the one," came the answer; "an' I want ye to teach her all the frills, 'n' yer money's ready an' waitin' any time." "Ish she von peginner?" came from Fritz. "Wal, sorter, 'n' sorter not," replied the man; "my name's Hutton, an' this ere's my niece, Miss Hutton, an' I've larnt her to saw just a leetle to start her off, ez it war. If ye'd like, she'll show ye what she kin do with a bow. Play suthin' slow, Mona, fust," he added as a violin was handed her, "till ye kinder ketch yerself, an' then suthin' lively." Mona somewhat nervously complied, and gaining courage as she forgot where she was, skipped over a half-dozen of the familiar Scotch airs she could play best, while the eyes of Fritz twinkled. "She vash no peginner," he said elated; "she vash blain' alretty yet very mooch." And seizing a music-rack and spreading a late composition upon it, he added, "Ef de lady vill blease blay dot, ve'll see vot she can do." "Ye've got'r now, perfessor," interposed Jess, "she can't read that music."