nd. Hundreds
of people were passing; but the fiddler's "Last Rose of Summer" wasn't
worth a cent. His cup was empty.

"The poor thing!" said Kitty.

"Wait!" Hawksley approached the fiddler, exchanged a few words with him,
and the blind man surrendered his fiddle.

"Give me your hat!" cried Kitty, delighted.

Carefully Hawksley pried loose his derby and handed it to Kitty. No stab
of pain; something to find that out. He turned the instrument, tucked it
under his chin and began "Traumerei." Kitty, smiling, extended the hat.
Just the sort of interlude to make the adventure memorable. She knew
this thoroughfare. Shortly there would be a crowd, and the fiddler's cup
would overflow--that is, if the police did not interfere too soon.

As for the owner of the wretched fiddle, he raised his head, his mouth
opened. Up there, somewhere, a door to heaven had opened.

True to her expectations a crowd slowly gathered. The beauty of the girl
and the dark, handsome face of the musician, his picturesque bare head,
were sufficient for these cynical passers-by. They understood. Operatic
celebrities, having a little fun on their own. So quarters and dimes and
nickels began to patter into Cutty's ancient derby hat. Broadway will
always contribute generously toward a novelty of this order. Famous
names were tossed about in undertones.

Entered then the enemy of the proletariat. Kitty, being a New Yorker
born, had had her weather eye roving. The brass-buttoned minion of the
law was always around when a bit of innocent fun was going on. As
the policeman reached the inner rim of the audience the last notes of
Handel's "Largo" were fading on the ear.

"What's this?" demanded the policeman.

"It's all over, sir," answered Kitty, smiling.

"Can't have this on Broadway, miss. Obstruction." He could not speak
gruffly in the face of such beauty--especially with a Broadway crowd at
his back.

"It's all over. Just let me put this money in the blind man's cup."
Kitty poured her coins into the receptacle. At the same time Hawksley
laid the fiddle in the blind man's lap. Then he turned to Kitty and
boomed a long Russian phrase at her. Her quick wit caught the intent.
"You see, he doesn't understand that this cannot be done in New York. I
couldn't explain."

"All right, miss; but don't do it again." The policeman grinned.

"And please don't be harsh with the blind man. Just tell him he mustn't
play on Broadway again. Thank you!"

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