A Tramp Abroad

“I am very poor, my child, and books are nothing to me. I wish you well, but I shall not come.”

When Hildegarde was gone, he chuckled and said—

“How my fool of a soft-headed soft-hearted brother would rage if he knew how cunningly I have saved his pocket. How he would have flown to the old man’s rescue! But the girl won’t venture near him now.”

When Hildegarde reached home, her father asked her how she had prospered. She said—

“The Virgin has promised, and she will keep her word; but not in the way I thought. She knows her own ways, and they are best.”

The old man patted her on the head, and smiled a doubting smile, but he honored her for her brave faith, nevertheless.

II

Next day the people assembled in the great hall of the Ritter tavern, to witness the auction – for the proprietor had said the treasure of Germany’s most honored son should be bartered away in no meaner place. Hildegarde and her father sat close to the books, silent and sorrowful, and holding each other’s hands. There was a great crowd of people present. The bidding began—

“How much for this precious library, just as it stands, all complete?” called the auctioneer.

“Fifty pieces of gold!”

“A hundred!”

“Two hundred.”

“Three!”

“Four!”

“Five hundred!”

“Five twenty-five.”

A brief pause.

“Five forty!”

A longer pause, while the auctioneer redoubled his persuasions.

“Five-forty-five!”

A heavy drag – the auctioneer persuaded, pleaded, implored – it was useless, everybody remained silent—

“Well, then – going, going – one – two—”

“Five hundred and fifty!”

This in a shrill voice, from a bent old man, all hung with rags, and with a green patch over his left eye. Everybody in his vicinity turned and gazed at him. It was Givenaught in disguise. He was using a disguised voice, too.

“Good!” cried the auctioneer. “Going, going – one – two—”

“Five hundred and sixty!”

This, in a deep, harsh voice, from the midst of the crowd at the other end of the room. The people near by turned, and saw an old man, in a strange costume, supporting himself on crutches. He wore a long white beard, and blue spectacles. It was Herr Heartless, in disguise, and using a disguised voice.

“Good again! Going, going – one—”

“Six hundred!”

Sensation. The crowd raised a cheer, and some one cried out, “Go it, Green-patch!” This tickled the audience and a score of voices shouted, “Go it, Green-patch!”

“Going – going – going – third and last call – one – two—”

“Seven hundred!”

“Huzzah! – well done, Crutches!” cried a voice. The crowd took it up, and shouted altogether, “Well done, Crutches!”

“Splendid, gentlemen! you are doing magnificently. Going, going—”

“A thousand!”

“Three cheers for Green-patch! Up and at him, Crutches!”

“Going – going—”

“Two thousand!”

And while the people cheered and shouted, “Crutches” muttered, “Who can this devil be that is fighting so to get these useless books? – But no matter, he sha’n’t have them. The pride of Germany shall have his books if it beggars me to buy them for him.”

“Going, going, going—”

“Three thousand!”

“Come, everybody – give a rouser for Green-patch!”

And while they did it, “Green-patch” muttered, “This cripple is plainly a lunatic; but the old scholar shall have his books, nevertheless, though my pocket sweat for it.”

“Going – going—”

“Four thousand!”

“Huzza!”

“Five thousand!”

“Huzza!”

“Six thousand!”

“Huzza!”