“I don’t know,” said Paul, looking carelessly around. “My friend here would like a fiddle, if he can get one cheap. What do you ask for that one up there?”
Eliakim took down the fiddle with alacrity. He had had it on hand for a year without securing a customer. It had originally been pawned by a poor musician, for a dollar and a quarter, but the unfortunate owner had never been able to redeem it. Among his customers, the pawnbroker had not found one sufficiently musical to take it off his hands. Here was a slight chance, and he determined to effect a sale if he could.
“It is a splendid instrument,” he said, enthusiastically, brushing off the dust with a dirty cotton handkerchief. “I have had many chances to sell it.”
“Why didn’t you sell it, then?” demanded Paul, who did not believe a word of this.
“Because it was only pawned. I kept it for the owner.”
“Oh, well; if you can’t sell it, it doesn’t matter.”
“It is for sale now,” said Eliakim, quickly. “He has not come for it, and I shall keep it no longer. Just try it. See what a sp-l-endid instrument it is!” said the pawnbroker, dwelling on the adjective to give emphasis to it.
Paul tried it, but not knowing how to play, of course created only discord. He did not offer it to Phil, because the young Italian boy would have made it sound too well and so enhanced the price.
“It don’t sound very well,” said he, indifferently; “but I suppose it will do to learn on. What do you want for it?”
“Five dollars,” said Eliakim, studying the face of Paul, to observe the effect of his announcement.