THE FIFTH STRING
well nowadays as they did in the good old times," and he actually sighed in remembrance.
Mildred smiled and whispered to Diotti. He took his violin from the case and began playing. It seemed to her as if from above showers of silvery merriment were falling to earth. The old man watched intently, and as the player changed from joy to pity, from love back to happiness, Sanders never with drew his gaze. His bead-like eyes followed the artist; he saw each individual finger rise and fall, and the bow bound over the finger-board, always avoiding, never coming in contact with the middle string. Suddenly the old man beat a tattoo on his cranium and closed his eyes, apparently deep in thought.
As Diotti ceased playing, Sanders applauded vociferously, and moving toward the violinist, said: "Magnificent!
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