"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."

"Don't you fool yourself, Louis," Emil retorted. "That's an elegant
instrument from Nicolo Amati's best period. If it's worth a cent it's
worth three thousand dollars."

"_Schmooes_, Emil!" Louis cried. "What are you trying to do?--kid me?"

"What d'ye mean, kid you?" Emil asked. "I should never stir from this
spot, Louis, if that ain't an Amati. It's got a tone like gold, Louis."

For a brief interval Louis stared at his informant.

"Do you mean to told me, Emil, that that fiddle is a real, genu-ine