The words matured the boy’s resolution.  Fleeting visions of the sword, the cross-bow, the gingerbread and the nice little brothers once more rose before his mind, but with a powerful effort of the will he thrust them aside, held his breath that he might not smell the alluring odor of the cakes, and hastily approached the cart.  Here he unfastened his purse from his belt, poured its contents into his hand, showed the coins to the doctor, who had fixed his black eyes kindly on the odd customer, and asked:  “Will this be enough?”

“For what?”

“For the medicine to cure headache.”

The quack separated the little coins in Adrian’s hand with his forefinger, and answered gravely:  “No, my son, but I am always glad to advance the cause of knowledge.  There is still a great deal for you to learn at school, and the headache will prevent it.  Here are the drops and, as it’s you, I’ll give this prescription for another arcanum into the bargain.”

Adrian hastily wrapped the little vial the quack handed him in the piece of printed paper, received his dearly-bought treasure, and ran home.  On the way he was stopped by Captain Allertssohn, who came towards him with the musician Wilhelm.

“Have you seen my Andreas, Master Good-for-nothing?” he asked.

“He was standing listening to the musicians,” replied Adrian, released himself from the captain’s grasp, and vanished among the crowd.

“A nimble lad,” said the fencing-master.  “My boy is standing with the musicians again.  He has nothing but your art in his mind.  He would rather blow on a comb than comb his hair with it, he’s always tooting on every leaf and pipe, makes triangles of broken sword-blades, and not even a kitchen pot is sate from his drumming; in short there’s nothing but singsong in the good-for-nothing fellow’s head; he wants to be a musician or something of the sort.”

“Right, right!” replied Wilhelm eagerly; “he has a fine ear and the best voice in the choir.”

“The matter must be duly considered,” replied the captain, “and you, if anybody, are the person to tell us what he can accomplish in your art.  If you have time this evening, Herr Wilhelm, come to me at the watch house, I should like to speak to you.  To be sure, you’ll hardly find me before ten o’clock.  I have a stricture in my throat again, and on such days—­Roland, my fore man!”

The captain cleared his throat loudly and vehemently.  “I am at your service,” said Wilhelm, “for the night is long, but I won’t let you go now until I know what you mean by your fore man Roland.”

“Very well, it’s not much of a story, and perhaps you won’t understand.  Come in here; I can tell it better over a mug of beer, and the legs rebel if they’re deprived of rest four nights in succession.”