The Fifth String | Page 8

wreck. Extending his arms he cried, in the agony of despair: ``It is of no use! If the God of heaven will not aid me, I ask the prince of darkness to come.''
A tall, rather spare, but well-made and handsome man appeared at the door of the hut. His manner was that of one evidently conversant with the usages of good society.
``I beg pardon,'' said the musician, surprised and visibly nettled at the intrusion, and then with forced politeness he asked: ``To whom am I indebted for this unexpected visit?''
``Allow me,'' said the stranger taking a card from his case and handing it to the musician, who read: ``Satan,'' and, in the lower left-hand corner ``Prince of Darkness.''
``I am the Prince,'' said the stranger, bowing low.
There was no hint of the pavement- made ruler in the information he gave, but rather of the desire of one gentleman to set another right at the beginning. The musician assumed a position of open-mouthed wonder, gazing steadily at the visitor.
``Satan?'' he whispered hoarsely.
``You need help and advice,'' said the visitor, his voice sounding like that of a disciple of the healing art, and implying that he had thoroughly diagnosed the case.
``No, no,'' cried the shuddering violinist; ``go away. I do not need you.''
``I regret I can not accept that statement as gospel truth,'' said Satan, sarcastically, ``for if ever a man needed help, you are that man.''
``But not from you,'' replied Diotti.
``That statement is discredited also by your outburst of a few moments ago when you called upon me.''
``I do not need you,'' reiterated the musician. ``I will have none of you!'' and he waved his arm toward the door, as if he desired the interview to end.
``I came at your behest, actuated entirely by kindness of heart,'' said Satan.
Diotti laughed derisively, and Satan, showing just the slightest feeling at Diotti's behavior, said reprovingly: ``If you will listen a moment, and not be so rude to an utter stranger, we may reach some conclusion to your benefit.''
``Get thee behind--''
``I know exactly what you were about to say. Have no fears on that score. I have no demands to make and no impossible compacts to insist upon.''
``I have heard of you before,'' know- ingly spoke the violinist nodding his head sadly.
``No doubt you have,'' smilingly. ``My reputation, which has suffered at the hands of irresponsible people, is not of the best, and places me at times in awkward positions. But I am beginning to live it down.'' The stranger looked contrition itself. ``To prove my sincerity I desire to help you win her love,'' emphasizing her.
``How can you help me?''
``Very easily. You have been wasting time, energy and health in a wild desire to play better. The trouble lies not with you.''
``Not with me?'' interrupted the violinist, now thoroughly interested.
``The trouble lies not with you,'' repeated the visitor, ``but with the miserable violin you have been using and have just destroyed,'' and he pointed to the shattered instrument.
Tears welled from the poor violinist's eyes as he gazed on the fragments of his beloved violin, the pieces lying scattered about as the result of his unfortunate anger.
``It was a Stradivarius,'' said Diotti, sadly.
``Had it been a Stradivarius, an Amati or a Guarnerius, or a host of others rolled into one, you would not have found in it the melody to win the heart of the woman you love. Get a better and more suitable instrument.''
``Where is one?'' earnestly interrogated Diotti, vaguely realizing that Satan knew.
``In my possession,'' Satan replied.
``She would hate me if she knew I had recourse to the powers of darkness to gain her love,'' bitterly interposed Diotti.
Satan, wincing at this uncomplimentary allusion to himself, replied rather warmly: ``My dear sir, were it not for the fact that I feel in particularly good spirits this morning, I should resent your ill-timed remarks and leave you to end your miserable existence with rope or pistol,'' and Satan pantomimed both suicidal contingencies.
``Do you want the violin or not?''
``I might look at it,'' said Diotti, resolving mentally that he could go so far without harm.
``Very well,'' said Satan. He gave a long whistle.
An old man, bearing a violin case, came within the room. He bowed to the wondering Diotti, and proceeded to open the case. Taking the instrument out the old man fondled it with loving and tender solicitude, pointing out its many beauties--the exquisite blending of the curves, the evenness of the grain, the peculiar coloring, the lovely contour of the neck, the graceful outlines of the body, the scroll, rivaling the creations of the ancient sculptors, the solidity of the bridge and its elegantly carved heart, and, waxing exceedingly enthusiastic, holding up the instrument and looking at it as one does at a cluster of gems, he added, ``the adjustment of the strings.''
``That will