"It is at Geigermann's house to-day," Morris replied. "Right now it is there and it would stay there too, young feller, because that fiddle which you seen it is the one Geigermann paid three thousand dollars for. You seen the wrong fiddle, that's all." This statement seemed to rouse Aaron Shellak to hysterical frenzy. "Liar and thief!" he screamed. "Give me my fiddle." "One moment, Shellak," Morris said, "before you put on your hat and coat and go home, which you shouldn't trouble yourself to come back at all. I want to show you something." He explored his waistcoat pocket. "Ain't this the label which was in your fiddle?" he asked, handing Aaron a slip of paper. Aaron examined it carefully and nodded. "That other crazy Indian over there," Morris continued, pointing to the professor, "look at this label. Ain't it the same which was in the fiddle?" Ladislaw Wcelak examined the printed slip and he, too, nodded. Next, Morris turned to old man Hubai, who stood apart muttering to himself. "Some one ask that old greenhorn if it's the same label that was in the fiddle. I don't know what he's got to do with this business but he may know, anyhow." Wcelak interpreted Morris's words and showed the label to the old man, who replied volubly in Hungarian. "He says he thinks it is," the professor said, "but he doesn't know for sure." "Well, I know it is the same," Morris retorted, "because I took it out there myself this morning." Here Morris cleared his throat and assumed an air of such dignity, not to say majesty, that to Abe, it seemed as though he had never rightly known his partner until that moment. "Now look on the other side of that label," Morris cried. Once more the label went the rounds and after Emil Pilz had examined it he put on his hat and made for the elevator. Almost on tiptoe Professor Ladislaw Wcelak followed him, while Aaron repaired to the cutting room and packed up his belongings, preparatory to forsaking a career as cutter for one of music. At length only old man Hubai remained. "What are you waiting for?" Morris demanded. "Me poor man," Hubai said. "Me no got carfare, me no got _Trinkgeld_, me no got nothing." Morris handed him a quarter and he shuffled off toward the backstairs. Meantime Abe staggered to his feet and passed his hand over his forehead. "Tell me, Mawruss," he said, "what is all this about?" "It's just what I says just now, Abe," Morris exploded. "That expert seen the wrong fiddle. The fiddle you gave Geigermann is no more three hundred years old than I am." "Why ain't it?" Abe asked. For answer Morris handed him the label. On the obverse side Abe read the inscription: Nicolaus Amati Cremonensis Faciebai Anno 1670. "Now turn it over," Morris said; and Abe described on the reverse side a familiar oval mark bearing the following inscription: Allied Printers Trades Council, Union Label, New York City. CHAPTER SEVEN BROTHERS ALL