The violinist thereupon demanded the address of the owner, but the pawnbroker, seeing the chance of a “deal,” said he could not do that, but, instead, he himself would see the proprietor of the fiddle and ask him if he would sell. “Ferry vell,” said the Polish virtuoso, “here is dwenty dollars to bint the pargain. Eef he vill sell, I vill bay the pallance ven I kome to-morrow.” “Mein Gott!” said the owner of the violin when the pawnbroker visited him the same evening and approached him on the subject of buying the instrument. “I could not pard vid the violin for less than two hundert dollars. It kost me fife hundert tollars in Polandt.” The two men sat some time bickering about the sum expected and the sum offered, and at length the pawnbroker laid down $200 and departed with the delightful intention of asking _his_ customer $280. The next day passed, however, without the expected visitor putting in an appearance. Also the day following passed in the same manner, and the next and the next. At last the pawnbroker felt a twinge of anxiety. He flew to the address given him by the would-be purchaser and found that no such person was known there. A visit to the house of the former owner of the violin also proved fruitless, for the bird had flown. The pawnbroker, it is said, did not seek sympathy, well knowing that none is extended to his fraternity, but he occupied himself for some months in trying to straighten his accounts. We could easily light upon numerous tales of swindles in the fiddle trade without difficulty, but as our time is now short, we will content ourselves with quoting this one anecdote, and return to Cremona and its _luthiers_.