"Afternoon, Mrs. Drugg!" he called after the storekeeper's retreating wife. "I won't bite ye."
"Mr. Drugg will be right in," said 'Rill, beckoning Janice away.
Hopewell entered, violin in hand. He greeted Janice in his quiet way and then spoke to Bodley.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Bodley?"
"Now, how about that fiddle, Hopewell? D'ye really want to sell it?" asked the bartender, lightly.
"I—I must sell it, Mr. Bodley. I feel that I must," said Hopewell, in his gentle way.
"It's as good as sold, then, old feller," said the barkeeper. "I've got a customer for it."
"Ah! but I must have my price. Otherwise it will do me no good to sell the violin which I prize so highly—and which my father played before me."
"That's Yankee talk," laughed Bodley. "How much?"
"I believe it is a valuable instrument—a very valuable instrument," said poor Hopewell, evidently in fear of not making the sale, yet determined to obtain what he considered a fair price for it. "At least, I know 't is an old violin."