Drawing the old red handkerchief from his pocket in a tired, hopeless way, he began twisting it about the violin again. "Play something on it," said Bob. He evidently believed every word of the impromptu explanation, and was weakening again. Harrowing sighs--chronic for years--or trickling tears shed at the right moment by some grief-stricken woman never failed to deceive him. "No, I don't blay. I got no heart inside of me to blay," with a weary movement of his hand. He was now tucking the frayed ends of the handkerchief under the strings. "_Can_ you play?" asked Bob, grown suddenly suspicious, now that the man dare not prove his story. "Can I _blay_?" he answered, with a quick lifting of his eyes, and the semblance of a smile lighting up his furrowed face. "I blay mit Strakosch te Mendelssohn Concerto in te olt Academy in Vourteenth Street; ant ven Alboni sing, no von in te virst violins haf te solo but me, ant dere is not a pin drop in te house, ant Madame Alboni send me all te flowers tey gif her. Can I BLAY!" The tone of voice was masterly. He was a new experience to me, evidently an expert in this sort of thing. Bob looked down into his stagnant, inert face, noting the slightly scornful, hurt expression that lingered about the mouth. Then his tender heart got the better of him. "I cannot afford to pay sixty dollars for another violin," he said, his voice expressing the sincerity of his regret. "I cannot sell him vor less," replied the man, in a quick, decided way. It would have been an unfledged amateur impostor who could not have gained courage at this last change in Bob's tone. "Ven I get to New York," he continued, with almost a sob, "I must haf some money more as my railroad ticket to get anudder sheap violin. Te peoples will say it is Grossman come home vidout hees violin--he is broke. No, I no can sell him vor less. Tis cost one hundret ant sefenty-vive dollar ven I buy him." I was about to offer him five dollars, buy the patched swindle, and end the affair--I had pressing business with Bob that morning--when he stopped me. "Would you take thirty dollars and my old violin?" The man looked at him eagerly. "Vere is your violin?" "At my house." "Is it a goot von? Stop a minute"---- For the third time he removed the old red silk handkerchief. "Draw te bow across vonce. I know aboud your violin ven I hears you blay." Bob tucked the instrument under his chin and drew a full, clear, resonant tone. The watery eyes glistened. "Yes, I take your violin ant te money," in a decided tone. "You know 'em, ant I tink you loafe 'em too." The subtle flattery of this last touch was exquisitely done. The man was an artist. Bob reached for a pad, and, with the remark that he was wanted in court or he would go to his house with him, wrote an order, sealed it, and laid three ten-dollar bills on the table.