And there were other things to worry him.  Early in his search for work he had made a noontime pause, one day, in a quaint lager-beer saloon much frequented by musicians.  There, at the table where he sat, he had encountered one who earnestly announced himself as a “wise guy” and told him much about New York, all quite as pessimistic as the London romancer’s talk had been enthusiastic.  He suffered from misfortune which he blamed, unhesitatingly, to the vileness of the prosperous and ranted endlessly without attracting much attention till he touched upon the subject of the viciousness of the American rich man with women.  This roused Kreutzer fully, for one of the tales the babbler told was of a gilded youth who had befriended poverty in order to obtain the confidence of lowly beauty and then, of course, abused the confidence.

Herr Kreutzer’s heart beat madly before the man had finished speaking.  Could it be possible that all Americans were of this ilk, as the disgruntled one maintained?  If so, then Vanderlyn—­ah, it could not be possible!  The youth had been too kind to them during the few days of his stay in New York city, before he had departed for the west on a short trip; had promised too much kindness to be offered upon his return!  But—­Anna!

And so, that very night, he searched until he found another tenement, and, with his own hands, moved their scanty household goods to it, leaving behind him no address.  Naturally a sweet and unsuspicious soul, he had never dreamed of treachery upon the part of the ingratiating youth; now suspicion’s seeds were sown in his old mind and fertilized by rising tears of disillusionment in most things which he had found in New York, he was ready to be doubtful of the most undoubtable.

The new quarters were much less desirable, in every way, than those they had abandoned, and the rent was higher; but they were quite the best the old man could discover on short notice, and quite the lowest priced.  He never dreamed, as he argued with his new landlord over rent that the old rental had been cut almost in half to him because young Vanderlyn had made arrangements surreptitiously.  He entered the new tenement with the firm conviction that he had been swindled in the rent which he had paid, “cash in advance,” and, that night, was very gloomy.

So, also, were the bewildered Anna and M’riar.

“Hi sye, Miss,” said M’riar, when they were alone, while the flute-player went out for the supper, “wot’ll that young toff think, comin’ back an’ findin’ yer gone orf from there?”

“Surely there was left behind the address of this place,” said Anna, with small confidence of this in her own heart.

“Hi ‘eard the lawst word said,” said M’riar, with conviction, “an’ hall yer farther told th’ geezer was that ‘e was goin’ to quit.”

“But, he would not possibly be so lacking in his courtesy!  He—­”

Just then the flute-player returned and Anna asked him, boldly, but with a studied air of carelessness, about the matter.  It was the first time in her whole life that she had ever tried to hide her real emotions from her father.