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It seems that he anticipated much science of the nineteenth century; anticipated, in astronomy, the discovery of the seventh planet, but, unhappily, not also of the eighth; anticipated the views of modern astronomy in regard to the generation of earth by the sun; in magnetism, some important experiments and conclusions of later students; in chemistry, the atomic theory; in anatomy, the discoveries of Schlichting, Monro, and Wilson; and first demonstrated the office of the lungs.
The musician, ushered in, looked about him, an expression of bewildered and childish surprise on his rabbit-like face. "I am Schlichting," he murmured; "I come to play the B-flat trombone." "Glad to see you, Mr. Schlichting," said Average Jones, leading the way up-stairs. "Sit down." The visitor put his trombone down and shook his head with conviction. "It iss the same room, yes," he observed.
It must have been a signal to somebody pretty far off, or he wouldn't have chosen so loud an instrument as a B-flat trombone." "I can play the B-flat trombone louder as any man in the business," asserted Schlichting with proud conviction. "But what gets me," pursued Average Jones, "is the purpose of the signal. Whom was it for?" "I don't know nothing," said the other complacently.
The pair lurked in the neighborhood of the ramshackle house watching the entrance, until toward evening, as the door opened to let out a tremulous wreck of a man, palsied with debauch, Schlichting observed: "That iss him. He hass been drinking again once." Average Jones hurried the musician around the corner into concealment. "You have been here before to meet Mr. Ransom?" "No."
"But it iss not the same gent, no." "You expected to find Mr. Ransom here?" "I don't know Mr. Ransom. I know only to play the B-flat trombone." "Mr. Ransom, the gentleman who employed you to play in the street in Brooklyn." Mr. Schlichting made large and expansive gestures. "It iss a pleasure to play for such a gent," he said warmly. "Two dollars a day." "You have played often in Kennard Street?"
"I don't know nothing only to play the B-flat trombone," repeated the other patiently. "Now, Schlichting," said Average Jones, "here is a dollar. Every evening you must come here. Whether I am here or not, there will be a dollar for you. Do you understand?" By way of answer the German reached down and listed his instrument to his lips. "No, not that," forbade Average Jones. "Put it down."
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