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had occasion to know； were always popping up in queer places。 Some
new star probably； whose violin had been broken and who did not
care to appear in public before the hour of his debut。
〃Three o'clock；〃 said Cutty。
〃Very well； sir。 I promise to bring the violins myself。〃
Cutty wrote out his check for a thousand and departed； the chuckle
still going on inside of him。 Versatile old codger； wasn't he？
Promptly at three the dealer arrived； his arms and his hands gripping
violin cases。 Cutty hurried to his assistance； accepted a part of
the load； and beckoned to the man to follow him。 The cases were
placed on the floor； and the dealer opened them； putting the rosin
on a single bow。
Hawksley； a fresh bandage on his head； his shoulders propped by
pillows； eyed the initial manoeuvres with frank amusement。
〃I say； you know； would you mind tuning them for me？ I'm not top
hole。〃
The dealer's eyebrows went up。 An Englishman？ Bewildered； he bent
to the trifling labour of tuning the violins。 Hawksley rejected the
first two instruments after thrumming the strings with his thumb。
He struck up a melody on the third but did not finish it。
〃My word！ If you have a violin there why not let me have it at once？〃
The dealer flushed。 〃Try this； sir。 But I do not promise you that
I shall sell it。〃
〃Ah！〃 Hawksley stretched out his hands to receive the instrument。
Of course Cutty had heard of Amati and Stradivari； master and pupil。
He knew that all famous violinists possessed instruments of these
schools； and that such violins were practically beyond the reach of
many。 Only through some great artist's death or misfortune did a
fine violin return to the marts。 But the rejected fiddles had
sounded musically enough for him and looked as if they were well up
in the society of select fiddles。 The fiddle Hawksley now held in
his hands was dull； almost black。 The maple neck was worn to a
shabby gray and the varnish had been sweated off the chin rest。
Hawksley laid his fingers on the strings and drew the bow with a
powerful flourishing sweep。 The rich； sonorous tones vibrated after
the bow had passed。 Then followed the tricks by which an artist
seeks to discover flaws or wolf notes。 A beatific expression settled
upon Hawksley face。 He nestled the violin comfortably under his chin
and began to play softly。 Cutty； the nurse； and the dealer became
images。
Minors； a bit of a dance； more minors； nothing really begun； nothing
really finished … sketches； with a melancholy note running through
them all。 While that pouring into his ears enchained his body it
stirred recollections in Cutty's mind： The fair at Novgorod； the
fiddling mountebanks； Russian。
Perhaps the dealer's astonishment was greatest。 An Englishman！ Who
ever heard of an Englishman playing a violin like that？
〃I will buy it；〃 said Hawksley； sinking back。
〃Sir；〃 began the dealer； 〃I am horribly embarrassed。 I cannot sell
that violin because it isn't mine。 It is an Amati worth ten thousand
dollars。〃
〃I will give you twelve。〃
〃But； sir … 〃
〃Name a price；〃 interrupted Hawksley； rather imperiously。 〃I want it。〃
Cutty understood that he was witnessing a flash of the ancient blood。
To want anything was to have it。
〃I repeat； sir； I cannot sell it。 It belongs to a Hungarian who is
now in Hungary。 I loaned him fifteen hundred and took the Amati as
security。 Until I learn if he is dead I cannot dispose of the
violin。 I am sorry。 But because you are a real artist； sir； I will
loan it to you if you will make a deposit of ten thousand against any
possible accident； and that upon demand you will return the instrument
to me。〃
〃That's fair enough；〃 interposed Cutty。
〃I beg pardon；〃 said Hawksley。 〃I agree。 I want it； but not at the
price of any one's dishonesty。〃
He turned his head toward Cutty； 〃You're a thoroughbred； sir。 This
will do more to bring me round than all the doctors in the world。〃
〃But what the deuce is the difference？〃 Cutty demanded with a gesture
toward the rejected violins。
The dealer and Hawksley exchanged smiles。 Said the latter： 〃The
other violins are pretty wooden boxes with tolerable tunes in their
insides。 This has a soul。〃 He put the violin against his cheek
again。
Massenet's 〃Elegie；〃 Moszkowski's 〃Serenata；〃 a transcription； and
then the aria from Lucia。 Not compositions professional violinists
would have selected。 Cutty felt his spine grow cold as this aria
poured goldenly toward heaven。 He understood。 Hawksley was telling
him that the shade of his glorious mother was in this room。 The boy
was right。 Some fiddles had souls。 An odd depression bore down
upon him。 Perhaps this surprising music； topping his great emotions
of the morning； was a straw too much。 There were certain exaltations
that could not be sustained。
A whimsical forecast： This chap here； in the dingy parlour of his
Montana ranch； playing these indescribable melodies to the stars；
his cowmen outside wondering what was the matter with their 〃inards。〃
Somehow this picture lightened the depression。
〃My fingers are stiff；〃 said Hawksley。 〃My hand is tired。 I should
like to be alone。〃 He lay back rather inertly。
In the corridor Cutty whispered to the dealer： 〃What do you think
of him？〃
〃As he says； his touch shows a little stiffness； but the wonderful
fire is there。 He's an amateur； but a fine one。 Practice will
bring him to a finish in no time。 But I never heard an Englishman
play a violin like that before。〃
〃Nor I；〃 Cutty agreed。 〃When the owner sends for that fiddle let
me know。 Mr。 Hawksley might like to dicker for it。 If you know
where the owner is you might cable that you have an offer of twelve
thousand。〃
〃I'm sorry； but I haven't the least idea where the owner is。 However；
there is an understanding that if the loan isn't covered in eighteen
months the instrument becomes salable for my own protection。 There
is a year still to run。〃
Four o'clock found Cutty pacing his study； the room blue with smoke。
Of all the queer chaps he had met in his varied career this Two…Hawks
topped the lot。 The constant internal turmoil that must be going on；
the instincts of the blood … artist and autocrat！ And in the end；
the owner of a cattle ranch； if he had the luck to get there alive！
Dizzy old world。
Something else happened at four o'clock。 A policeman strolled into
Eightieth Street。 He was at peace with the world。 Spring was in
his whistle； in his stride； in the twirl of his baton。 Whenever
he passed a shop window he made it serve as a mirror。 No waistline
yet … a comforting thought。
Children swarmed the street and gathered at corners。 The older ones
played boldly in midstreet； while the toddlers invented games that
kept them to the sidewalk and curb。 The policeman came stealthily
upon one of these latter groups … Italians。 At the sight of his
brass buttons they fled precipitately。 He laughed。 Once in a month
of moons he was able to get near enough to touch them。 Natural。
Hadn't he himself hiked in the old days at the sight of a copper？
Sure； he had。
A bit of colour on the sidewalk attracted his eye； and he picked up
the object。 Something those kids had been playing with。 A bit of
red glass out of a piece of cheap jewellery。 Not half bad for a
fake。 He would put one over on Maggie when he turned in for supper。
Certainly this was the age of imitation。 You couldn't buy a brass
button with any confidence。 He put the trinket in his pocket and
continued on； soon to forget it。
At six he was off duty。 As he was leaving the precinct the desk
sergeant called him back。
〃Got change for a dollar； an' I'll settle that pinochle debt；〃
offered the sergeant。
〃I'll take a look。〃 The policeman emptied his coin pocket。
〃What's that yuh got there？〃
〃Which？〃
〃The red stone？〃
〃Oh； that？ Picked it up on the sidewalk。 Some Italian kids dropped
it as they skedaddled。〃
〃Let's have a look。〃
〃Sure。〃 The policeman passed over the stone。
〃Gee！ That looks like real money。 Say； they can do anything with
glass these days。〃
〃They sure can。
A man in civilian clothes … a detective from headquarters … went up
to the desk。 〃What you guys got there？〃
〃A ruby this boob picks up off'n the sidewalk；〃 said the sergeant；
winking at the finder； who grinned。
〃Let's have a squint at it。〃
The stone was handed to him。 The detective stared at it carefully；
holding it on his palm and rocking it gently under the desk light。
Crimson darts of flame answered to this treatment。 He pushed back
his hat。
〃Well； you boobs！〃 he drawled。
〃What's the matter？〃
〃Matter？ Why； this is a ruby！ A whale of a ruby； an' pigeon blood
at that！ I didn't work in the' appraiser's office for nothing。 But
for a broken point … kids probably tried to crack it … it would
stack up somewhere between three and four thousand dollars！〃
The sergeant and the policemen barked simultaneously： 〃What？〃
〃A pigeon blood。 Where was it you found it？〃
〃Holy Moses！ On Eightieth。〃
〃Any chance of finding that bunch of kids？〃
〃Not a chance； not a chance！ If I got the hull district here the