himself.

"Some one ask that old greenhorn if it's the same label that was in the
fiddle. I don't know what he's got to do with this business but he may
know, anyhow."

Wcelak interpreted Morris's words and showed the label to the old man,
who replied volubly in Hungarian.

"He says he thinks it is," the professor said, "but he doesn't know for
sure."

"Well, I know it is the same," Morris retorted, "because I took it out
there myself this morning."

Here Morris cleared his throat and assumed an air of such dignity, not
to say majesty, that to Abe, it seemed as though he had never rightly
known his partner until that moment.

"Now look on the other side of that label," Morris cried.

Once more the label went the rounds and after Emil Pilz had examined it
he put on his hat and made for the elevator. Almost on tiptoe Professor
Ladislaw Wcelak followed him, while Aaron repaired to the cutting room
and packed up his belongings, preparatory to forsaking a career as
cutter for one of music.

At length only old man Hubai remained.

"What are you waiting for?" Morris demanded.