Prof. Poppendorf removed his glasses, and we saw in his eyes a suspicious moisture. "Ah," he said, not appearing to hear the compliment, if it was a compliment, "it brings back the old days. I have not sing that song since I was at the university with Bismarck. There were twenty of us, young students, who sang it together, and now they are almost all gone." This ended the musical performances of the evening. After this, there was conversation, and later Mrs. Gray provided ice-cream and cake. It was Horton's ice-cream, and the plates were small, but we enjoyed it. Before we parted, the Professor found himself sitting next to Ruth Canby. "Do you ever go to the theatre, fraulein?" he asked. "Not often, Professor. I cannot go alone, and there is no one to take me." "I will take you, Mees Ruth." The young woman from Macy's looked amazed. She had not dreamed of such an invitation from him. Yet she was very fond of the stage, and she saw no reason why she should not accept. "You are very kind, Professor," she said. "I did not think you cared for the theatre." "I would like to go--with you," he said, gallantly. "Then I will go." "It will be like going with my grandfather," she thought. CHAPTER X. A RUSTIC ADMIRER. Sunday was always a lonely day to me. In the country village, where I knew everybody, I always looked forward to it as the pleasantest day of the week. Here in the crowded city, I felt isolated from human sympathy. I accustomed myself to attending church in the forenoon. In the afternoon I took a walk or an excursion. At the boarding-house even it was dull and less social than usual. Such of the boarders as had friends near the city were able to absent themselves after breakfast. Among the faces that I missed was that of the Disagreeable Woman. Sometimes she appeared at breakfast; but never at dinner or tea. Though she never indulged in conversation to any extent, I think we all missed her. One Sunday afternoon, soon after the gathering described in the last chapter, I walked up Fifth Avenue to Central Park. It was a pleasant day and many were out. Through the magnificent avenue I walked in a leisurely way, and wondered idly how it would seem to own a residence in this aristocratic street. I could not repress a feeling of envy when I thought of the favored class who dwelt in the long line of palaces that line the avenue. Their lives seemed far removed from that of a struggling physician, who was in daily doubt how long he could maintain his modest style of living in the crowded metropolis. Arrived at Fifty-ninth street I sauntered toward the menagerie. This is the favorite resort of children, and of young persons from the country. Perhaps I, myself, might be classed among the latter. I did not care so much, however, to observe the animals as the visitors. I had a hope that I might see some one whom I knew.