"Professor!" repeated Mr. Schmenckel, with a look at Berger's blue blouse and ill-kept beard. "Ha! ha! ha! Very good! May I make you acquainted with my friend Cotterby? Mr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, known as the Flying Pigeon. Mr. Berger, known as Professor! Ha! ha! ha!" "Shall we go again," inquired Oswald, who was seriously embarrassed by Mr. Schmenckel's conduct. "I think we had better stay a little longer," replied Berger. "Your fist, old boy!" said Mr. Schmenckel, seizing Berger's small thin hand and shaking it warmly. "I like you prodigiously. When your tile is losing its glue, and your blouse is going to tatters completely, you must come to me. Director Schmenckel will be delighted to receive a man like you as a member of his company. Your beard alone is an ornament for the whole land. You would create a sensation in a pantomime. What did you think of our performance to-day, count?" "I was unfortunately unable to see it," replied Oswald, encouraged by a smile upon Berger's lips to continue the strange conversation. "Oh, you have lost much, indeed very much," said the director in a tone of sincere regret, shaking his huge head slowly to and fro. "The performance was by far the finest we have given for a long time. Director Schmenckel has convinced everybody that the absence of a few estimable members of his company could in no wise impair the general efficiency of the same. I do not mean myself--although the world-renowned Schmenckel-act, with three cannon-balls of forty-eight pounds each, has never yet been imitated by anybody in this world, and my _fontaine d'argent_, with ten silver balls, is as yet unequalled. But, gentlemen, you ought to have seen Mr. Cotterby on the trapeze; I tell you the ring-tailed apes of the Island of Sumatra are miserable bunglers in comparison--absolutely miserable bunglers! And then Mr. Stolsenberg with his gigantic cask! I tell you--come nearer, Stolsenberg. An artist such as you are need not be so very modest, and the count here does not mind another glass of beer, or even several he is not like ordinary men. And then Mr. Pierrot, as contortionist!--come this way, Pierrot! Artists ought always to keep to each other. I tell you, count, your penknife is a ramrod in comparison with Mr. Pierrot. I have said it again and again: Pierrot, if we ever should travel by rail together, I mean to pay only for myself; I shall put you in my hat-box. Ha! ha! ha! A clever idea! Is it not, count? But the professor's glass is empty; and by all the Powers! mine is empty too! I verily believe that man Stolsenberg has secretly emptied my glass, and his own into the bargain! You had better drink yours too, Pierrot. You will save the pretty waiting-maid some trouble. Here, my angel, five fresh glasses; but really fresh, my beauty--fresh, like the roses on your cheeks. Fond of pretty women, count?--such a pretty child, with brown eyes, dark hair, and a slight, graceful person, like Czika? Eh? Just let her grow