The Black Cat. Various Authors

      The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/A Bull Market in Fiddles

       Table of Contents

      ​A BULL MARKET

      IN FIDDLES

       Table of Contents

      BY J. BERNARD LYNCH

       In which a couple of Bulls break loose in the fiddle market. Prices soar, and Uncle Myer hitches his wagon to a "Strad."

      NCLE MYER, first aid to the financially afflicted, displayed unwonted interest as he mentally inventoried a customer, while leaning patronizingly across the glass showcase.

      That customer was tall, gaunt, emaciated; his hair long and straggly, the chalky color of his face accentuated by bright, sparkling light in big brown eyes. The age advertised by plentiful streaks of gray strands was repudiated by a youthful figure and nervous energy evidenced in every movement.

      With apparent effort, he raised a violin case from the floor and laid it across the counter. Then after a sigh he relaxed his grip and, with a gesture of despair, allowed his gaze to travel questioningly toward the pawnbroker.

      "Well," asked the keeper, "do you want a loan or is it for sale?"

      "A loan," answered the man, wearily. "It's my all, but soul hunger must wait until human need is satisfied."

      The pawnbroker, with business-like brusqueness, snapped open the catch and made ready to uncover the offering.

      "Pardon me," interposed the man, "this is an instrument of delicate and artistic construction, and must be handled with care. In fact—it is an old master!"

      Slowly, as if drawing forth a precious treasure, the man laid the violin on the counter. He then looked toward the pawnbroker, as if anticipating that the exhibition would enforce enthusiastic admiration.

      The pawnbroker, to whom all instruments perhaps looked alike, blinked disinterestedly and asked, "How much do you want?"

      "Listen," said the man, impressively, as he raised the instrument from the counter and tucked it, in a peculiar manner, under his chin. "You fail to value this treasure, but the violin will make you understand."

      He drew the bow across the strings slowly, and the eulogy he could not convey in words he put into tones and half tones. A merry lilting waltz enlivened the sombre atmosphere and regaled the varied collection of misfortune's trophies. The man and melody bespoke mastery in the medium of expression and the pawnbroker's grim look softened as he felt the appeal dominating the strains.

      The music ceased with soft plaintiveness and the player laid the instrument oh the counter.

      "You see," he offered, indulgently, "it bespeaks the mellowness of bygone years; it is a heritage of master workmanship. But even though it's ​my soul, my heart, my life, we must part for a while. Although the value of such an instrument as this should be counted by thousands, I ask but a trifle. To get too much might keep us apart too long, for genius is often hungry and fortune is a fickle jade. Let me have three dollars until the ghost walks."

      With an expression of relief the pawnbroker, after a causual examination, turned to the desk and, securing his customer's name and address, passed money and pawn ticket across the counter.

      The grotesque customer moved slowly toward the door and then stopped. "Pardon me," he said, as he retraced his steps, "I trust you appreciate how important the safe keeping of that violin is. Being delicate it is extremely sensitive to heat and cold. It is also affected by darkness. It must have light and air. Would you mind hanging it up somewhere?"

      "I will store it in the back room," answered the pawnbroker. "It is both sunny and airy there."'

      The violin owner shook his head protestingly, as if doubting the character of the back room. "There's a good place right above the counter," he said; "would you mind hanging it up?"

      "All right," answered the pawnbroker, impatiently, and after placing the case under the counter he hung the violin where designated, while the man looked on approvingly. Then, after profuse thanks, the odd customer departed.

      And with the service lubricated by demands of other customers, Uncle Myer forgot the violin and its strange-looking owner.

      Two days later he smiled a welcome to a gentleman whose personal appearance breathed money begetting confidence. As the demands for loans had been unusually large during the day, the pawnbroker beamed pleasantly when his customer requested to see a diamond ring from the window display.

      The man studied the ring reflectively, and with the aid of a pocket microscope viewed the sparkling gem.

      "The stone is good," he admitted, "but I find, on closer examination, the setting is an inferior copy of one I already have in my collection, for that reason it does not interest me."

      "Don't be in