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I am going to be to-morrow morning, ten o'clock, at this here Potash & Perlmutter's, and if you want to you could meet me there with old man Hubai." "Old man Hubai!" Louis cried. "What's he got to do with it?" "He's got a whole lot to do with it, Louis," Emil said.
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. "Me poor man," Hubai said. "Me no got carfare, me no got Trinkgeld, me no got nothing."
"That other crazy Indian over there," Morris continued, pointing to the professor, "look at this label. Ain't it the same which was in the fiddle?" Ladislaw Wcelak examined the printed slip and he, too, nodded. Next, Morris turned to old man Hubai, who stood apart muttering to himself. "Some one ask that old greenhorn if it's the same label that was in the fiddle.
"And who would substitute for me, Emil?" the professor asked. "That's all right," Emil replied. "I stopped in on my way over and I seen old man Hubai. He ain't shikker yet, so I told him he should go over and fiddle a couple czardas till you come, and to tell the boss you got a Magenweh and would be a little late. Me, I am going uptown to look at a fiddle.
"Oh, nothing," the professor replied; "only my brother Aaron sold to a feller by the name Potash the other day a fiddle which I myself bought from old Hubai a couple years ago for fifteen dollars yet; and if that's the one you are talking about, Emil, you should quick go up to the theayter and forget about it. Because, Emil, if that fiddle is an Amati, you are a Kubelik and I am a Kreisler."
Old man Hubai stood in the middle of the showroom; and with clenched fists waving in the air he appealed to heaven to witness that he was a poor man and spoke nothing but the Hungarian tongue. Hence he was at the mercy of such ruffians as Pilz and Wcelak, whose right name he averred to be Kohn.
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