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Byrd," he interrupted at this point, his eyes shining with eagerness. "Enough clothes for decency, that's all. If I could be of some use to your husband, to my friend and Adolph's, I should ask no more of life. I'm a hopeless failure, ma'am, and getting old you don't know what it is like to feel utterly useless."
He had expected to find Adolph's brother in such a great stone building as those he had just passed, with their show windows empty save for one piece of tapestry or sculpture, or a fine painting brilliant against its background of dull velvet.
Stefan must have been helping Adolph's brother to his feet again; perhaps that was where more of the money had gone. Stefan came home that afternoon, and Mary very unwillingly tackled the subject. He looked surprised. "I'd no idea I'd been drawing so much! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he exclaimed. "Yes, I've given poor old Henrik a bit from time to time; I thought I'd mentioned it to you."
The interval that must be dragged through while the stewards cleared the saloon Stefan occupied in routing from Adolph's huge old Gladstone his one evening suit. He had not at first dreamed of dressing, but many of the other men had done so, and he determined that for her sake he must play the game at least to that extent.
Farraday himself, the efficient, the concentrated, sat absent-mindedly reading the papers, or drumming a slow, ceaseless tap with his fingers upon the desk. The general gloom was enhanced by their knowledge that Mac, their dear absurd Mac, was going. But they were all proud of him. By two o'clock Farraday had read all the news twice over, and Adolph's letter three times.
In one other respect Adolph's influence was good: he opened out to Richard's vision immense fields of literature that the youngster had never heard of. I have previously mentioned that all the culture of the Geyer family came through the theatre.
Richard, however, had no taste either for law or officialism he knew indeed that lawyers and officials are the parasites and curse of our civilization. He had evidently taken to heart his Uncle Adolph's admonitions "Remember how wide was the culture of C.M. von Weber," etc.; and he entered the university with the intention, as he imagined, of acquiring some of that culture.
"My name is Jensen. What can I do for you?" replied the man in a toneless voice. "You are Adolph's brother?" incredulously. At the name the gray face flushed pathetically. Jensen came forward, pressing his hands together, and peered into Stefan's face. "Yes, I am," he answered, "and you are Mr. Byrd that he wrote to me about. I'd hoped you weren't coming, after all.
This perseverance was due to the interest which Weiss immediately aroused in me. When I made his acquaintance at my uncle Adolph's house, Weiss had just translated the metaphysics of Aristotle, and, if I am not mistaken, dedicated them in a controversial spirit to Hegel.
The former frank, honest expression in Adolph's eyes had given place to a look of cunning, that appealed to the instincts of a French police- officer. He thought something might come of this, and his instincts did not mislead him. Delore with great craftiness watched the door of the house in London, taking care that no one should suspect his purpose.
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