A whimsical forecast: This chap here, in the dingy parlour of his
Montana ranch, playing these indescribable melodies to the stars,
his cowmen outside wondering what was the matter with their "inards."
Somehow this picture lightened the depression.
"My fingers are stiff," said Hawksley. "My hand is tired. I should like
to be alone." He lay back rather inertly.
In the corridor Cutty whispered to the dealer: "What do you think of
him?"
"As he says, his touch shows a little stiffness, but the wonderful fire
is there. He's an amateur, but a fine one. Practice will bring him to
a finish in no time. But I never heard an Englishman play a violin like
that before."
"Nor I," Cutty agreed. "When the owner sends for that fiddle let me
know. Mr. Hawksley might like to dicker for it. If you know where the
owner is you might cable that you have an offer of twelve thousand."
"I'm sorry, but I haven't the least idea where the owner is. However,
there is an understanding that if the loan isn't covered in eighteen
months the instrument becomes salable for my own protection. There is a
year still to run."
Four o'clock found Cutty pacing his study, the room blue with smoke.
Of all the queer chaps he had met in his varied career this Two-Hawks
topped the lot. The constant internal turmoil that must be going on, the
instincts of the blood--artist and autocrat! And in the end, the owner
of a cattle ranch, if he had the luck to get there alive! Dizzy old
world.
Something else happened at four o'clock. A policeman strolled into
Eightieth Street. He was at peace with the world. Spring was in his
whistle, in his stride, in the twirl of his baton. Whenever he passed a
shop window he made it serve as a mirror. No waistline yet--a comforting
thought.
Children swarmed the street and gathered at corners. The older ones
played boldly in midstreet, while the toddlers invented games that kept
them to the sidewalk and curb. The policeman came stealthily upon one
of these latter groups--Italians. At the sight of his brass buttons they
fled precipitately. He laughed. Once in a month of moons he was able to
get near enough to touch them. Natural. Hadn't he himself hiked in the
old days at the sight of a copper? Sure, he had.
A bit of colour on the sidewalk attracted his eye, and he picked up the
object. Something those kids had been playing with. A bit of red glass
out of a piece of cheap jewellery. Not half bad for a fake. He would put
one over on Maggie when he turned in for supper. Certainly this was the
age of imitation. You couldn't buy a brass button with any confidence.
He put the trinket in his pocket and continued on, soon to forget it.