He was about sixty years of age, short, rotund, corpulent. His head
was bullet-shaped and set well down on his shoulders. His clothes were
baggy and threadbare, his linen soiled and shabby. He had blue eyes,
harsh red hair, and a florid complexion. When he arrived, he brought
three valises. Everybody wondered what he could have in them.

The bouncer was consumed with a desire to examine the contents, and,
as bouncer and general floor-manager of the house, expected that they
would naturally be placed under his care. When, however, it was
announced that the newcomer had engaged "One-eyed Dutchy" as his
valet, the bouncer swore, and said "he might go to ----."

There was something peculiar and mysterious in a ten-cent guest of the
Bismarck hiring a valet. The Germans called him Graf von Habernichts.
He kept aloof from the crowd. He had no friends and would permit no
one to establish any intercourse with him.

His valet informed an intimate friend that the Graf received a check
from Germany every three months. While it lasted, it was the valet's
duty to order, pay for, and keep a record of all food and refreshment.
When the bouncer told me of these things, I tried very hard to
persuade the Graf to dine at my house; but he declined without even
the formality of thanks. After a few months, the revenue of the
mysterious stranger dried up and "One-eyed Dutchy" was discharged.

A snowstorm found the old Graf with an attack of rheumatism, and
helpless. Then he was forced to relinquish his ten-cent cot and move
upstairs to a seven-cent bunk. When he was able to get out again, he
came back dragging up the rickety old stairs a scissors-grinder.
Several of the guests offered a hand, but he spurned them all, and