The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-01-19
CHAPTER VI.

~ .
 secretary to Rear Admiral
 N Killigrew, retired.
 Could there be two Brett manns by the name of Karl? Here and there, across the world. he had heard of Breitmann, but never had he seen him since that meeting in Paris. And, simply because he had proved to be an enthusiastic student of Napoleon, Nike himself, he had talk en the man to dinner. But that was nothing. Under the same circum- stances he would have done the same thing again. There had been some thing fascinating about the fellow, either his voice or his manner. And there could be no douhting that he had been at ebb tide; the shiny coat, the white. but ragged linen, the cracked patent feathers.
 A baron, and to reach the humble grade of private secretary to an ec- centric millionaire-for the admiral. with all his kindliness and common mense. was eccentric-this was a fall. Where were his newspapers7 There was a dignity to foreign work, even though in Europe the pay Is small There was trouble going on here and there, petty wars and political squab- bles. Yes, where were his newsp apers Had he tried New York7 If not. in that case. Fitzgerald be of some solid assistance. And Cathewe knew him. or had met him.
 Fitzgeeald had buffeted the high and low places; he seldom made mistakes In judging men offhand. an art ac- quired only after many initial blunders. This man Breitmann was no sham; he was a scholar, a gentleman, a fine lin- guist, versed in politics and war. Well, The little mystery would be brushed aside in the morning. Breitmann would certainly recognize him.
 But to have forgotten the girl! To have permitted a course of events to discover her! Shameful! He jumped Into bed, and pulled the coverlet close ko his nose. and was soon asleep, sleep broken by fantastic dreams, in which the past and present mixed with the improbable chances of the future. He sIept soundIy till g.
 On the way to the dining room, he met the man. The scars were little ner, but there was no shadow of doubt ln Fitzgerald's mind.
 'BreitmannP P he said, with friendly hand.
 "It is you Fitzgera1d9 And what do you hereT' extending both hands.
 "Come in to breakfast" Fitzgerald aid. land I'll tell you"
 "My table is here: sit by the window. Who was it said that the world is BmaIlP'
 Fitzgerald spread his napkin over his knees. There was only one other man bFeakfasting. He was a small, wiry person, white of hair, and spectacIed. and was at that moment curiously em- ployed. He had pinned to the table a Imall butterfly, yellow. with tiny dots pp the wings. He was critically in- Tpecting his find through a jewellers glass.
 'T am visfting friends here," began Fitzgerald Rear Admiral KiIIigreW was an old friend of my fathers. I did not expect to remain. but the admiral and his daughter insisted; so I am sending to New York for my luggage. and will go up this morning." He saw no reason for giving fuller details.
 -'So it must have been you who brought the admirars note. It is fate. Thanks Some day that casual dinner may give you good interest"
 The little man with the butterfly bent lower over his prize.
 ''Do you believe in curses?' asked Breitmann.
 Ordinary. everyday curses, yes; but not in Roman anathemas."
 Neither of those. l mean the curse that sometimes dogs a man day and night-the curse of misfortune. was hungry that night in Paris: have been hungry many times since. I have held honorable places; today I become a servant at $75 month and my bread and butter. A private secretary"
 ''But why aren't you with some newspaper" asked Fitzgerald. break Ing his eggs.
 Breitmann drew up hiS shoulders. "For the same reason that am rent Ing my brains as a private secretary. None of them will employ me.''
 ''In New York, with your creden- tials?''
 CTo Be Continued.)
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