My fiddle is not here.

My fingers itch for the cat-gut.

Eh ?" The look in old Berry's face softened a little.

His instinct had been against his visitor, and he had been prepared to send him to another shop-besides, not every day could he talk to the greatest man in the West.
"If you can play, there it is," he said after a slight pause, and handed the fiddle over.
It was true that Jethro Fawe loved the fiddle.

He had played it in many lands.