"How much for this?" he asked, pointing to the violin, and speaking in a
slow, deliberate tone, as if he did not feel at home in the language.
"What do you want for it?"
"Ten dollar," he answered.
"Ten dollars! You're crazy!" was the contemptuous comment of the
pawnbroker.
"He is a very good violin," said the man. "If you would like to hear
him," and he made a movement as if to play upon it.
"Never mind!" said Eliakim. "I haven't any time to hear it. If it were
new it would be worth something; but it's old, and----"
"But you do not understand," interrupted the customer, eagerly. "It is
worth much more than new. Do you see, it is by a famous maker? I would
not sell him, but I am poor, and my Bettina needs bread. It hurts me
very much to let him go. I will buy him back as soon as I can."
"I will give you two dollars, but I shall lose on it, unless you redeem
it."
"Two dollar!" repeated the Italian. "Ocielo! it is nothing. But Bettina
is at home without bread, poor little one! Will you not give three
dollar?"
"Not a cent more."
"I will take it."
"There's your money and ticket."
And with these the poor Italian departed, giving one last lingering
glance at his precious violin, as Eliakim took it roughly and deposited
it upon a shelf behind him. But he thought of his little daughter at
home, and the means of relief which he held in his hand, and a smile
of joy lightened his melancholy features.
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