Hade is one of the best amateur violinists in America, and he's daft on playing.

He drops in here, every now and then--he has an interest with me in the groves--and as soon as he catches sight of Roke's violin, he starts playing it.
That means no more work out of Roke till Hade chooses to stop.
He just stands, with his mouth wide open, hypnotized.

Can't drag him away for a second.

Hey, Roke ?" Roke had ceased nursing his wrist and had listened with sheepish amusement to his employer's guying.

But at this question, he made answer: "I'm here now." He jerked the thumb of his uninjured hand toward a spic-and-span launch which lay moored between two sodden scows, and then nodded in the direction of the corrugated iron hut among the trees.
Listening--though the wind set the wrong way for it--Brice could hear faintly the strains of a violin, played ever so softly and with a golden wealth of sweetness.