Leadfingers, Songster Bob and Mooh: Thank you all for your excellent advice. I took the moribund mandolin back to the big downtown House O' Instruments, which was apes*** with post-Christmas bargain-hunters. "It sure don't play good," said the amiable guitar-slinger behind the counter. "And if it don't play good for me, it sure won't play good for you."

The boss wouldn't go for a full refund after five months -- just think; if I'd given up easier I would have got my money back! -- but he did spring for a credit note not only for the Montana mandolin but also for the gig bag I bought at the same time. I now have a hard case for the Kentucky and -- as you say, Bob -- the credit to keep me in strings till I die or my fingers fall off.

Mooh, you and the rest of Ernie King's toilers at Goderich were our fall-back position, had I not got satisfaction with the vendor.

The Kentucky is now a full member of the establishment, and the first cat hairs have already settled into the plush lining of the new case.