Wheeling register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1878-1935, 1894-12-31
AN ASKER OF AIMS.



In ten beggars there are nine liars.
This is not a Persian proverb, 1t Is
something know TO be true. MY story
If record of actual fact can be called
story-is about the tenth beggar.
met him one rainy afternoon as
was hurryinR along near WASHINGTON
square, New York. OF course he asked
for something, and, Of course, Irefused.
went on half block to the
found DO one ia and turned
back The man was still standing on
the corner. Several persons passed him,
but he did not offer to speak to them.
1 fancied he had the air of one new to
his trade, and not yet past feeling
ashamed Of it. he was a man of about
thirty-fve, OF medium height and
slightly stopped. He had an distracted
look, as of an absent-minded person,
but the expression Of his face was not
unpleasant. Finally be wore glasses,
aud, think, this was the real reason
l stopped and spoke to him.
Excuse me, sir. for speaking to you, "
be said in reply to my question, speak
ing with a strong German accent, "but
have no money, can get no work.
"What was your work?"
81 am a teacher-of Latin, French,
German"
"Are you graduate?"
He drew himself up with some pride.
Zach, yes. am Doctor Of Philology
of the University Of jena"
Doctor or no doctor, he was getting
wet, and so was 1. walked him over to
little restaurant, and there he told his
story.
He had been g teacher in the gym
nasium at Potsdam, he said, and, hear
ing OF the large SALARIES paid in Amer
lea. he came here in November. he
applied at Columbia and the University
OF the City OF New York, and wrote
some letters, but, OF course, at that
time of the year there were no vacsn-
cies. He tried to secure private pupils,
but without success, Becoming dis
couraged, and having no friends TO turn
TO, be simply driited about the city
week after week, till his money was
gone. "Tempora mutantur," he said,
~ did not like to beg, but what could
doP"
When l told him I had studied Ger
man he fairly Elowsd.
$50 you have read Heine-Schiller
Are they not wonderfulP"
For months, suppose, he had heard
nothing but the slang OF the Streets
To meet person who knew his favorite
authors was real PLEASURE, and he
sputtered away about them in his
broken English for some time. Finally
he told me that his name was Hoevel,
and that be was unmarried.
When he had finished his meal he said,
in Latin: Let us go"
81 have work to do this afternoon,
I said, land cannot stay any longer.
Where can l see you-where do you
live?"
81 live anywhere. I have no home. !"
"But where do you SleepP"
"In a big place; it is twenty cents
night"
"Thers are places where You can stay
forHfteeR. u reElfted the heedlessness
of this as soon as l said IL.
Eyes, but they are-you call IL bum. +"
I deliberated q moment. "Can you
meet me at this corner at five o'clock
tomorrow? / don't know that / can do
ANYTHING, but I'll see. And II I'm not
here tomorrow come the next day at
the same time. I'll be there one day or
the other.
lie promised to come and we parted.
That night told the story to crowd
of young fellows at the boarding house.
They seemed interested In the man, and
the upshot of 1t was that we decided to
form German conversation class and
engage my doctor of philology as leader.
As half expected, business made 1t
impossible for me to keep my appoint
ment the next day. But the day after l
was at the appointed place ten minutes
ahead of time. I waited and loitered
about that corner until the policeman
grew suspicious. Till haif-past five L
stayed there, but the man did not come.
1 never saw him again.
All this happened nearly year ago.
The other day l up picked paper and
read this item:
Emil Hoevel, a German teacher OF
languages, committed suicide yester-
dav afternoon on the steps Of the York.
vile Police Court, in East Fifty-sev-
enth street, this city by stab5lnR him
self in the heart. The man, 1t is said,
had received a university education In
Germany. Dependency over his poor
success in securing pupils and his pow
erty were the causes Of the act"
Then l wished had kept my appoint
ment on the first day.-Kate Fteld's
WASHINGTON.