had to have it, the very lowest in the
scale. A universal magic. He was himself very fond of good music; but
these days he fought shy of it; it had the faculty of sweeping him back
into the twenties and reincarnating vanished dreams.

After a certain length of time, from the corner of his eye he saw the
clerk returning with the proprietor, the latter wearing an amiable
smile, which probably connoted a delving into the aforesaid volumes of
attainment and worth. Cutty hoped this was so, as it would obviate the
necessity of going into details as to who he was and what he had.

"Your name is familiar to me," began the proprietor. "You collect
antique drums. My clerk tells me that you wish to purchase a good
violin."

"Very good. I have in my apartment rather a distinguished guest who
plays the violin for his own amusement. He is ill and cannot select for
himself. Now I know a little about music but nothing about violins."

"I suggest that I personally carry half a dozen instruments to your
apartment and let your guest try them. How much is he willing to pay?"

"Top price, I should say. Shall I make a deposit?"

"If you don't mind. Merely precautionary. Half a dozen violins will
represent quite a sum of money; and taxicabs are unreliable animals. A
thousand against accidents. What time shall I call?" The proprietor's
curiosity was stirred. Musical celebrities, as he 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