man watched intently, and as the player
changed from joy to pity, from love
back to happiness, Sanders never withdrew
his gaze. His bead-like eyes followed
the artist; he saw each individual
finger rise and fall, and the bow bound
over the finger-board, always avoiding,
never coming in contact with the middle
string. Suddenly the old man beat a
tattoo on his cranium and closed his
eyes, apparently deep in thought.

As Diotti ceased playing, Sanders
applauded vociferously, and moving
toward the violinist, said: ``Magnificent!
I never have heard better playing!
What is the make of your violin?''

Diotti, startled at this question,
hurriedly put the instrument in its case;
``Oh, it is a famous make,'' he drawled.

``Will you let me examine it?'' said
the elder, placing his hand on the case.

``I never allow any one to touch my
violin,'' replied Diotti, closing the cover
quickly.

``Why; is there a magic charm about