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