"Who's this feller Potash?" the professor asked, and Emil shrugged.
"What difference does that make?" he said. "He gives a hundred and twenty-five dollars for the fiddle only a couple days ago. What d'ye want to know for?"
"Oh, nothing," the professor replied; "only my brother Aaron sold to a feller by the name Potash the other day a fiddle which I myself bought from old Hubai a couple years ago for fifteen dollars yet; and if that's the one you are talking about, Emil, you should quick go up to the theayter and forget about it. Because, Emil, if that fiddle is an Amati, you are a Kubelik and I am a Kreisler."
"Sure, I know, Louis," Emil agreed; "but just the same I got to go up there to make the ten, so if you would do me the favour and spiel for me till half-past nine you could get anyhow three dollars of it."
"I am willing," the professor said; and ten minutes later he was on his way up to the Palace Theatre of Varieties.
It was precisely half-past nine, while a tabloid drama in progress on the stage rendered the presence of the orchestra unnecessary, that Emil Pilz returned.
"Nu Emil," Louis said as they stood in the corridor leading to the stage entrance, "did you seen the Amati?"
He grinned in humorous anticipation of Emil's answer.
"Yes, I did seen it," Emil replied, "and it's a very elegant, grand model."
"Sure," the professor said; "made in Bavaria with an ax."