hundred and twenty-five dollars, and the chances is you are paying a
fancy figure for a cheap popular-price line of fiddles."

Abe hung up his hat so violently that he nearly knocked a hole in the
crown.

"In the first place, Mawruss," he began, "it was your idee I should go
up there and get the fiddle back, and in the second place I am telling
you with my own eyes I seen that fiddle and it is the selfsame,
identical article--name, lot number and everything--which that feller
Geigermann refuses thirty-five hundred dollars for."

He scowled at his partner in anticipation of a cutting rejoinder.

"But anyhow, that ain't neither here nor there," he continued as Morris
remained silent. "We would quick find out for ourselves what the fiddle
really is, because to-morrow morning I am going around to the store and
Geigermann gives me the fiddle back."

Morris paused in the folding of a velvet skirt.

"I wouldn't do that, Abe, if I was you," he said. "What is the use
giving presents and taking 'em back again? You could make from a feller
an enemy for life that way."

"Sure, I know Mawruss. An enemy for life is one thing, Mawruss, but
thirty-five hundred dollars ain't to be sniffed at neither,
y'understand."

"_Schmooes_, Abe!" Morris cried. "The fiddle ain't worth even