It bore the rather remarkable name of
"DR. MENDELSSOHN BROWN."
"A gentleman to see you, Mr. Vane," said the servant.
Harry rose and surveyed the stranger in some surprise. He had long
hair, of a reddish yellow, with an abundant beard of the same hue. His
suit of worn black fitted him poorly, but Dr. Brown evidently was not
a devotee of dress. No tailor could ever point to him, and say with
pride: "That man's clothes were made at my shop."
"Do I speak to Mr. Harry Vane, the young vocalist?" asked the
stranger, with a deferential smile.
"That's my name," answered our hero.
"You are alone?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry, a little puzzled.
"It is well. I will come to business at once. You have probably heard
of me, eh?"
"Probably I have, but I do not remember names well."
"The name of Mendelssohn Brown, is pretty well known, I flatter
myself," said the visitor, complacently. "To be brief--I heard you
sing last evening, and was much pleased with your rendition of the
various selections."
Harry bowed.
"I am about to form a juvenile Pinafore company, and would like to
have you take the leading part. You would make an excellent _Admiral_.
I propose to take my opera company all over the United States. I
should be willing to pay you, as the star performer, twenty-five
dollars a week.
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