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FIDDLES

This is Marny's story, not mine. He had a hammer in his hand at the time and a tack between his teeth.

Marny stepped back and took in the stuffed head and wide-branched antlers of the magnificent elk and the small, partly faded miniature of a young man in a student cap and high-collared coat.

"Ah, you young fraud," he went on--the position of both head and miniature pleased him now--"do you remember the time I hauled you out from under the table when the hucksters were making a door-mat of your back; and the time I washed you off at the pump, and what you said to the gendarme, and--No, you never remembered anything. You'd rather sprawl out on the grass, or make eyes at Gretchen or the landlady--fifty, if she was a day--maybe fifty-five, and yet she fell in love" , "fell in love with that tramp--a boy of twenty-two,'mind you--Ah! but what a rounder he was! Such a trim, well-knit figure; so light and nimble on his feet; such a pair of eyes in his head, leaking tears one minute and flashing hate the next. And his mouth! I tried, but I couldn't paint it--nobody could--so I did his profile; one of those curving, seductive mouths you sometimes see on a man, that quivers when he smiles, the teeth gleaming between the moist lips."

I had lassoed a chair with my foot by this time, had dragged it nearer the fire, and had settled myself in another.

"Funny name, though for a German," I remarked carelessly--quite as if the fellow's patronymic had already formed part of the discussion.

"Had to call him something for short," Marny retorted. "Feudels-Shimmer was what they called him in Rosengarten--Wilhelm Feudels-Shimmer. I tried all of it at first, then I bit off the Shimmer, and then the Wilhelm, and ran him along on Feudels for a while, then it got down to Fuddles, and at last to Fiddles, and there it stuck. Just fitted him, too. All he wanted was a bow, and I furnished that--enough of the devil's resin to set him going--and out would roll jigs, lullabys, fandangoes, serenades--anything you wanted: anything to which his mood tempted him."

Marny had settled into his chair now, and had stretched his fat legs toward the blaze, his middle distance completely filling the space between the arms. He had pushed himself over many a ledge with this same pair of legs and on this same rotundity, his hand on his Winchester, before his first ball crashed through the shoulder of the big elk whose glass eyes were now looking down upon Fiddles and ourselves--and he would do it again on another big-horn when the season opened. You wouldn't have thought so had you dropped in upon us and scanned his waist measure, but then, of course, you don't know Marny.

Again Marny's eyes rested for a moment on the miniature; then he went on:

"We were about broke when I painted it," he said. "There was a fair of some sort in the village, and I got an old frame for half a mark in a pawnshop, borrowed a coat from Fritz, the stableman, squeezed Fiddles into it, stuck a student's cap on his head, made it look a hundred years old--the frame was all of that--and tried to sell it as a portrait of a 'Gentleman of the Last Century,' but it wouldn't work. Fiddles's laugh gave it away. 'Looks like you,' the old man said. 'Yes, it's my brother,' he blurted out, slapping the dealer on the back."

"Where did you pick Fiddles up?" I asked.

"Nowhere," answered Marny; "he picked me up. That is, the gendarme did who had him by the coat collar."

"'This fellow insists you know him,' said the officer of the law. 'He says that he is honest and that this rabbit'--here he pointed to a pair of long ears sticking out of a game bag--'is one he shot with the Mayor this morning. Is this true?'

"Now if there is one thing, old man," continued Marny, "that gets me hot around the collar, it is to see a brother sportsman arrested for killing anything that can fly, run, or swim. So I rose from my sketching stool and looked him over: his eyes--not a bit of harm in 'em; his loose necktie thrown over one shoulder; trim waist, and so on down to the leather leggings buttoned to his knees. If he was a poacher and subject to the law, he certainly was the most picturesque specimen I had met in many a day. I had, of course, never laid eyes on him before, having been but a few days in the village, but that made the situation all the more interesting. To rescue a friend would be commonplace, to rescue a stranger smacked of adventure.

"I uncovered my head and bowed to the ground. 'His Honor shoots almost every day, your Excellency,' I said to the gendarme. 'I have seen him frequently with his friends--this young man is no doubt one of them--Let--me--think--was it this morning, or yesterday, I met the Mayor? It is at best a very small rabbit'--here I fingered the head and ears--'and would probably have died of hunger anyway. However, if any claim should be made by the farmer I will pay the damages'--this with a lordly air, and I with only a week's board in my pocket.

"The gendarme released his hold and stood looking at the young fellow. The day was hot and the village lock-up two miles away. That the rabbit was small and the Mayor an inveterate sportsman were also undeniable facts.

"'Next time,' he said sententiously, with a scowl, 'do you let his Honor carry the game home in his own bag,' and he walked away.

"Oh, you just ought to have seen Fiddles skip around when a turn in the road shut out the cocked hat and cross-belts, and heard him pour out his thanks. 'His name was Wilhelm, he cried out; it had only been by chance that he had got separated from his friends. Where did I live? Would I let him give me the rabbit for a stew for my dinner? Was I the painter who had come to the inn? If so he had heard of me. Could he and his friends call upon me that night? He would never forget my kindness. What was the use of being a gentleman if you couldn't help another gentleman out of a scrape? As for Herr Rabbit--the poor little Herr Rabbit-here he stroked his fur--what more honorable end than gracing the table of the Honorable Painter? Ah, these dogs of the law--when would they learn not to meddle with things that did not concern them?"

"And did Fiddles come to your inn, Marny?" I asked, merely as a prod to keep him going.

"All this time Fiddles was looking about the dining-room of the inn, taking in the supper-table, the rows of mugs, especially the landlady, who was frightened half out of her wits by Cocked Hat's presence, and more especially still little Gretchen--such a plump, rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little Dutch girl--with two Marguerite pig-tails down her back.

"When we got to the Mayor's the old fellow was asleep in a big armchair, his pipe out, his legs far apart--a keg-shaped kind of a man, with a head flattened on his shoulders like a stove-lid, who said 'Ach Gott' every five minutes, and spluttered when he talked.

"I went in first, leaving the two on the porch until I should send for them. I didn't know how things were going to turn out and had become a little anxious. I had run up from Munich for a few weeks' outdoor work and wanted to stay out, not behind iron bars for abetting crime.

"'Your Supreme Highness,' I began, 'I have heard of your great prowess as a sportsman, and so I wanted to pay my respects. I, too, am a shootist--an American shootist.' Here I launched out on our big game . He was wide awake by this time and was listening. Dropping into the chair which he had drawn up for me, I told him of our elk--'As big as horses, your Honor'; of our mountain lions--savage beasts that could climb trees and fall upon the defenseless; of our catamounts, deer, wolves, bears, foxes--all these we killed without molestation from anybody; I told him how all American sportsmen were like the Nimrods of old. How galling, then, for a true shootist to be misunderstood, decried, denounced, and arrested for so insignificant a beastie as a rabbit! This indignity my very dear friend, Herr Wilhelm Fuedels-Shimmer, had suffered--a most estimable young man--careless, perhaps, in his interpretation of the law, but who would not be--that is, what sportsman would not be? I had in Wilhelm's defense not only backed up his story, but I had gone so far as to hazard the opinion to the officer of that law, that it was not on some uncertain Tuesday or Friday or Saturday, but on that very Wednesday, that his Supreme Highness had been wont to follow with his four accomplished dogs the tracks of the nimble cotton-tail. Would his Highness, therefore, be good enough to concentrate his giant brain on his past life and fish from out his memory the exact day on which he last hunted? While that was going on I would excuse myself long enough to bring in the alleged criminal.

"Fiddles stepped in with the easy grace of a courtier accustomed to meeting a Mayor every day of his life, and, after a confirmatory wink from me, boldly asserted that he had followed behind his Honor--had really assisted in driving the game his way. His Honor might not remember his face, but he surely must remember that his Honorable Honor had extraordinarily good luck that day. The rabbit in controversy--a very small, quite a baby rabbit--was really one his Honorable and Most Supreme Highness had himself wounded, and which he, Fiddles, had finished. He was bringing it to his Honor when the estimable gendarme had stopped him.

"'And what day was that?' interrupted the Mayor.

"'On last Wednesday.'

"'The cobbler said it was Tuesday,' insisted Cocked Hat. 'On this point hangs the case. Now on which day did your Honor take the field with your dogs?'

"There was a dead silence, during which the Mayor's eyes rested on the culprit. Fiddles returned the look, head up, a smile on his lips that would have fooled the devil himself. Then his Honor turned to me and said: 'My memory is not always very good, but this time the cobbler's--who is a meddlesome person--is even more defective. Yes, I think it quite possible I was hunting on last Wednesday. I can sympathize with the young man as to the size of the rabbit. They are running very small this year. My decision, therefore, is that you can let the young man go.'

"Oh, but that was a great night at the inn. Gretchen was so happy that she spilled the beer down the apothecary's back and the landlady could talk of nothing but Fiddles's release. But the real fun began an hour later, when shouts for the Herr Mahler, interwoven with the music of a concertina, made me step to the door. Outside, in the road, stood four young men--all pals of Fiddles, all bareheaded, and all carrying lanterns. They had come to crown the American with a gold chaplet cut from gilt paper, after which I was to be conducted to the public house where bumpers of beer were to be drunk until the last pfennig was spent.

"On hearing this, Gretchen, the landlady, the apothecary, the hostler, and the stable-boy--not the cobbler, you may be sure--burst forth with cries of: 'Hip! Hip!--Hock! Donder und Blitzen!' or whatever they do yell when they are mad with joy.

"Then the landlady broke out in a fresh place: 'No public-house for you! This is my treat! All of you come inside. Gretchen, get the mugs full--all the mugs--Sit down! Sit down! The Herr Painter at the top of the table, the Herr Feudels-Shimmer on the right; all the other Herrs anywhere in between. Hock the Mahler! Hock the Hunter! Hock everybody but the cobbler!' Here a groan went round. 'Hock! Hip and Blather skitzen for the good and honorable Mayor, who always loves the people!'

"'And Hock! too, for the honorable and good gendarme!' laughed Fiddles, dropping into his chair. 'But for him I would be in the lock-up instead of basking in the smiles of two such lovely women as the fascinating landlady and the bewitching Gretchen.'

"After that Fiddles and I became inseparable. That I hadn't a mark over my expenses to give him in return for his services--and there was nothing he would not do for me--made no difference. He wouldn't take any wages; all he wanted was to carry my traps, to sit by me while I worked; wake me up in the morning, be the last to wish me good night. Soon it became a settled fact that, while the landlady fed two mouths--mine and Fiddles's--and provided two beds--Fiddles in the garret--my single board bill covered all the items. 'That is the Herr Painter and his servant,' she would say to inquiring strangers who watched us depart for a day's work, Fiddles carrying my easel and traps.

"This went on for weeks--might have gone on all summer but for the events which followed a day's outing. We had spent the morning sketching, and on our way home had stood opposite a wide-open gate--a great baronial affair with a coat of arms in twisted iron, the whole flanked by two royal lamps.

"'Step inside, Master,' said Fiddles. 'It is hot, and there is a seat under that tree; there we will get cool.'

"'It's against the rules, Fiddles, and I don't know these people.'

"'Then I'll introduce you.'

"He was half-way across the grass by this time and within reach of a wooden bench, when an old lady stepped out from behind a tree--a real old aristocrat in black silk and white ruffles. She had a book in her hand, and had evidently been reading.

"You should have seen the bow Fiddles gave her, and the courtesy she returned.

"'Madame the Baroness,' said the rascal, with an irradiating smile as I approached them, 'has been good enough to ask us to accompany her to the house. Permit me, Madame, to present my friend, a distinguished American painter who is visiting our country, and who was so entranced at the beauty of your grounds and the regal splendor of your gate and ch?teau that rather than disappoint him--'

"'You are both doubly welcome, gentlemen,' 'This way, please,' replied the old lady with a dip of her aristocratic head; and before I knew it we were seated in an oak-panelled dining-room with two servants in livery tumbling over each other in their efforts to find the particular wine best suited to our palates.

"Fiddles sipped his Rudesheimer with the air of a connoisseur, blinking at the ceiling now and then after the manner of expert wine tasters, and complimenting the old lady meanwhile on the quality of the vintage. I confined myself to a glass of sherry and a biscuit, while Fiddles, rising from his seat, later on, stood enraptured before this portrait and that, commenting on their coloring, ending by drawing an ancient book from the library and going into ecstasies over the binding and type.

"On our way home to the inn from the chateau there was, so far as I could see, no change in Fiddles's manner. Neither was his speech or gait at all affected by the bottle of Rudesheimer . I mention this because it is vitally important to what follows. Only once did he seem at all excited, and that was when he passed the cobbler's corner. But then he was always excited when he passed the cobbler seated at work--so much so sometimes that I have seen him shake his fist at him. To-day he merely tightened his jaw, stopped for a moment as if determined to step in and have it out with him , and then, as if changing his mind, followed along after me, muttering: 'Spy--informer--beast--' as I had often heard him do before.

"Judge of my astonishment then, when, an hour later, Gretchen came running into my room wringing her hands--I had caught him kissing her the night before--and burst out with:

"'He is under the table--the huckster's feet on him--He is there like a dog--Oh, it is dreadful! Mine Herr--won't you come?'

"'Who is under the table?'

"'Wilhelm.'

"'Where?'

"'At the public-house.'

"'How do you know?'

"'Fritz, the stable-boy has just seen him.'

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