"
"You have it here--at your house here?" asked old Berry in surprise.
"It's the only place I've got. Did you think I'd put it in a museum? I
can't play it, but there it is for any one that can play. How would you
like to try it?" he added to Jethro in a friendly tone. "I'd give a good
deal to see it under your chin for an hour. Anyhow, I'd like to show it
to you. Will you come?"
It was like him to bring matters to a head so quickly.
The Romany's eyes glistened. "To play the Sarasate alone to you?" he
asked.
"That's it-at nine o'clock to-night, if you can."
"I will come--yes, I will come," Jethro answered, the lids drooping over
his eyes in which were the shadows of the first murder of the created
world.
"Here is my address, then." Ingolby wrote something on his visiting-card.
"My man'll let you in, if you show that. Well, good-bye."
The Romany took the card, and turned to leave. He had been dismissed by
the swaggering Gorgio, as though he was a servant, and he had not even
been asked his name, of so little account was he! He could come and play
on the Sarasate to the masterful Gorgio at the hour which the masterful
Gorgio fixed--think of that! He could be--a servant to the pleasure of
the man who was stealing from him the wife sealed to him in the Roumelian
country.
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