Morris thrust the label into his pocket and turned to Geigermann with an amiable smile. Moreover, his pallor had given place to a pronounced flush and he looked nearly five years younger than when he walked into the store just ten minutes before.
"Hello, Felix!" he cried, holding out his hand. "How's the boy?"
"Fine," Felix said. "Where's Abe?"
"He couldn't get here on account he is sitting up late again last night, and, of course, Felix, he is sick. But anyhow, Felix, I am glad he ain't coming."
"Why so?" Felix asked.
"Because you never seen such a feller in your life, Felix," Morris went on. "Always worrying and always kicking. First he gives you a fiddle, then he wants to take it back again. With me it is different. What do I care if the fiddle is or it ain't one of them genu-ine Who's This's? Once you give a thing you give a thing, ain't it? And I don't care what experts says nor nothing."
Felix Geigermann blushed. When Emil Pilz had called on him the night before he had scented the object of the visit and had exhibited not Abe's gift but the Karanyi Amati. He had no doubt that Pilz communicated to Potash & Perlmutter the result of his call immediately after its conclusion, and he felt touched and humbled by Morris's generous behaviour.
"Morris," he said, "I did you a big injury. I didn't think you felt that way about it; so when that expert called on me last night I didn't show him Abe's fiddle at all—I showed him the other one, the three-thousand-dollar fiddle."
Morris's grin became a trifle broader.
"That don't worry me none, Felix," he declared. "I am glad you should keep the fiddle if it should be worth ten thousand dollars even. A gift is a gift, Felix."