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diff --git a/671-0.txt b/671-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f263c18 --- /dev/null +++ b/671-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6584 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Phil the Fiddler, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Phil the Fiddler + +Author: Horatio Alger, Jr. + +Release Date: March 18, 2006 [EBook #671] +Last Updated: September 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL THE FIDDLER *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger + + + + + +PHIL, THE FIDDLER + +By Horatio Alger, Jr. + + + + + +PREFACE + +Among the most interesting and picturesque classes of street children in +New York are the young Italian musicians, who wander about our streets +with harps, violins, or tambourines, playing wherever they can secure +an audience. They become Americanized less easily than children of other +nationalities, and both in dress and outward appearance retain their +foreign look, while few, even after several years’ residence, acquire +even a passable knowledge of the English language. + +In undertaking, therefore, to describe this phase of street life, I +found, at the outset, unusual difficulty on account of my inadequate +information. But I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of +two prominent Italian gentlemen, long resident in New York--Mr. A. E. +Cerqua, superintendent of the Italian school at the Five Points, and +through his introduction, of Mr. G. F. Secchi de Casale, editor of +the well-known Eco d’Italia--from whom I obtained full and trustworthy +information. A series of articles contributed by Mr. De Casale to +his paper, on the Italian street children, in whom he has long felt a +patriotic and sympathetic interest, I have found of great service, and I +freely acknowledge that, but for the information thus acquired, I should +have been unable to write the present volume. + +My readers will learn with surprise, probably, of the hard life led by +these children, and the inhuman treatment which they receive from the +speculators who buy them from their parents in Italy. It is not without +reason that Mr. De Casale speaks of them as the “White Slaves” of New +York. I may add, in passing, that they are quite distinct from the +Italian bootblacks and newsboys who are to be found in Chatham Street +and the vicinity of the City Hall Park. These last are the children of +resident Italians of the poorer class, and are much better off than +the musicians. It is from their ranks that the Italian school, before +referred to, draws its pupils. + +If the story of “Phil the Fiddler,” in revealing for the first time to +the American public the hardships and ill treatment of these wandering +musicians shall excite an active sympathy in their behalf, the author +will feel abundantly repaid for his labors. + +NEW YORK, APRIL 2, 1872. + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER + I. PHIL THE FIDDLER + II. PHIL AND HIS PROTECTOR + III. GIACOMO + IV. AN INVITATION TO SUPPER + V. ON THE FERRY BOAT + VI. THE BARROOM + VII. THE HOME OF THE BOYS + VIII. A COLD DAY + IX. PIETRO THE SPY + X. FRENCH’S HOTEL + XI. THE BOYS RECEPTION + XII. GIACOMO’S PRESENTIMENTS + XIII. PHIL FINDS A CAPITALIST + XIV. THE TAMBOURINE GIRL + XV. PHIL’S NEW PLANS + XVI. THE FASHIONABLE PARTY + XVII. THE PADRONE IS ANXIOUS + XVIII. PHIL ELUDES HIS PURSUER + XIX. PIETRO’S PURSUIT + XX. PIETRO’S DISAPPOINTMENT + XXI. THE SIEGE + XXII. THE SIEGE IS RAISED + XXIII. A PITCHED BATTLE + XXIV. THE DEATH OF GIACOMO + XXV. PHIL FINDS A FRIEND + XXVI. CONCLUSION + + + + +PHIL THE FIDDLER + + + +CHAPTER I + +PHIL THE FIDDLER + +“Viva Garibaldi!” sang a young Italian boy in an uptown street, +accompanying himself on a violin which, from its battered appearance, +seemed to have met with hard usage. + +As the young singer is to be the hero of my story, I will pause to +describe him. He was twelve years old, but small of his age. His +complexion was a brilliant olive, with the dark eyes peculiar to his +race, and his hair black. In spite of the dirt, his face was strikingly +handsome, especially when lighted up by a smile, as was often the case, +for in spite of the hardships of his lot, and these were neither few nor +light, Filippo was naturally merry and light-hearted. + +He wore a velveteen jacket, and pantaloons which atoned, by their extra +length, for the holes resulting from hard usage and antiquity. His +shoes, which appeared to be wholly unacquainted with blacking, were, +like his pantaloons, two or three sizes too large for him, making it +necessary for him to shuffle along ungracefully. + +It was now ten o’clock in the morning. Two hours had elapsed since +Filippo, or Phil, as I shall call him, for the benefit of my readers +unfamiliar with Italian names, had left the miserable home in Crosby +Street, where he and forty other boys lived in charge of a middle-aged +Italian, known as the padrone. Of this person, and the relations between +him and the boys, I shall hereafter speak. At present I propose to +accompany Phil. + +Though he had wandered about, singing and playing, for two hours, Phil +had not yet received a penny. This made him somewhat uneasy, for he knew +that at night he must carry home a satisfactory sum to the padrone, or +he would be brutally beaten; and poor Phil knew from sad experience that +this hard taskmaster had no mercy in such cases. + +The block in which he stood was adjacent to Fifth Avenue, and was lined +on either side with brown-stone houses. It was quiet, and but few passed +through it during the busy hours of the day. But Phil’s hope was that +some money might be thrown him from a window of some of the fine houses +before which he played, but he seemed likely to be disappointed, for he +played ten minutes without apparently attracting any attention. He +was about to change his position, when the basement door of one of the +houses opened, and a servant came out, bareheaded, and approached him. +Phil regarded her with distrust, for he was often ordered away as a +nuisance. He stopped playing, and, hugging his violin closely, regarded +her watchfully. + +“You’re to come in,” said the girl abruptly. + +“Che cosa volete?” (1) said Phil, suspiciously. + + (1) “What do you want?” + +“I don’t understand your Italian rubbish,” said the girl. “You’re to +come into the house.” + +In general, boys of Phil’s class are slow in learning English. After +months, and even years sometimes, their knowledge is limited to a few +words or phrases. On the other hand, they pick up French readily, and as +many of them, en route for America, spend some weeks, or months, in the +French metropolis, it is common to find them able to speak the language +somewhat. Phil, however, was an exception, and could manage to speak +English a little, though not as well as he could understand it. + +“What for I go?” he asked, a little distrustfully. + +“My young master wants to hear you play on your fiddle,” said the +servant. “He’s sick, and can’t come out.” + +“All right!” said Phil, using one of the first English phrases he had +caught. “I will go.” + +“Come along, then.” + +Phil followed his guide into the basement, thence up two flight of +stairs, and along a handsome hall into a chamber. The little fiddler, +who had never before been invited into a fine house, looked with +admiration at the handsome furniture, and especially at the pictures +upon the wall, for, like most of his nation, he had a love for whatever +was beautiful, whether in nature or art. + +The chamber had two occupants. One, a boy of twelve years, was lying +in a bed, propped up by pillows. His thin, pale face spoke of long +sickness, and contrasted vividly with the brilliant brown face of the +little Italian boy, who seemed the perfect picture of health. Sitting +beside the bed was a lady of middle age and pleasant expression. It was +easy to see by the resemblance that she was the mother of the sick boy. + +Phil looked from one to the other, uncertain what was required of him. + +“Can you speak English?” asked Mrs. Leigh. + +“Si, signora, a little,” answered our hero. + +“My son is sick, and would like to hear you play a little.” + +“And sing, too,” added the sick boy, from the bed. + +Phil struck up the song he had been singing in the street, a song well +known to all who have stopped to listen to the boys of his class, with +the refrain, “Viva Garibaldi.” His voice was clear and melodious, and +in spite of the poor quality of his instrument, he sang with so much +feeling that the effect was agreeable. + +The sick boy listened with evident pleasure, for he, too, had a taste +for music. + +“I wish I could understand Italian,” he said, “I think it must be a good +song.” + +“Perhaps he can sing some English song,” suggested Mrs. Leigh. + +“Can you sing in English?” she asked. + +Phil hesitated a moment, and then broke into the common street ditty, +“Shoe fly, don’t bouder me,” giving a quaint sound to the words by his +Italian accent. + +“Do you know any more?” asked Henry Leigh, when our hero had finished. + +“Not English,” said Phil, shaking his head. + +“You ought to learn more.” + +“I can play more,” said Phil, “but I know not the words.” + +“Then play some tunes.” + +Thereupon the little Italian struck up “Yankee Doodle,” which he played +with spirit and evident enjoyment. + +“Do you know the name of that?” asked Henry. + +Phil shook his head. + +“It is ‘Yankee Doodle.’” + +Phil tried to pronounce it, but the words in his mouth had a droll +sound, and made them laugh. + +“How old are you?” asked Henry. + +“Twelve years.” + +“Then you are quite as old as I am.” + +“I wish you were as well and strong as he seems to be,” said Mrs. Leigh, +sighing, as she looked at Henry’s pale face. + +That was little likely to be. Always a delicate child, Henry had a +year previous contracted a cold, which had attacked his lungs, and had +gradually increased until there seemed little doubt that in the long +struggle with disease nature must succumb, and early death ensue. + +“How long have you been in this country?” + +“Un anno.” + +“How long is that?” + +“A year,” said Henry. “I know that, because ‘annus’ means a year in +Latin.” + +“Si, signor, a year,” said Phil. + +“And where do you come from?” + +“Da Napoli.” + +“That means from Naples, I suppose.” + +“Si, signor.” + +Most of the little Italian musicians to be found in our streets are +brought from Calabria, the southern portion of Italy, where they +are purchased from their parents, for a fixed sum, or rate of annual +payment. But it is usual for them when questioned, to say that they come +from Naples, that being the principal city in that portion of Italy, or +indeed in the entire kingdom. + +“Who do you live with,” continued Henry. + +“With the padrone.” + +“And who is the padrone?” + +“He take care of me--he bring me from Italy.” + +“Is he kind to you?” + +Phil shrugged his shoulders. + +“He beat me sometimes,” he answered. + +“Beats you? What for?” + +“If I bring little money.” + +“Does he beat you hard?” + +“Si, signor, with a stick.” + +“He must be a bad man,” said Henry, indignantly. + +“How much money must you carry home?” + +“Two dollars.” + +“But it isn’t your fault, if people will not give you money.” + +“Non importa. He beat me.” + +“He ought to be beaten himself.” + +Phil shrugged his shoulders. Like most boys of his class, to him the +padrone seemed all-powerful. The idea that his oppressive taskmaster +should be punished for his cruelty had never dawned upon him. Knowing +nothing of any law that would protect him, he submitted to it as a +necessity, from which there was no escape except by running away. He +had not come to that yet, but some of his companions had done so, and he +might some day. + +After this conversation he played another tune. Mrs. Leigh drew out her +purse, and gave him fifty cents. Phil took his fiddle under his arm, +and, following the servant, who now reappeared, emerged into the street, +and moved onward. + + + +CHAPTER II + +PHIL AND HIS PROTECTOR + +To a certain extent Phil was his own master; that is, he was at liberty +to wander where he liked, provided he did not neglect his business, and +returned to the lodging-house at night with the required sum of money. +But woe to him if he were caught holding back any of the money for his +own use. In that case, he would be beaten, and sent to bed without his +supper, while the padrone, according to the terms of his contract with +the distant parent would withhold from the amount due the latter ten +times the sum kept by the boy. In the middle of the day he was allowed +to spend three cents for bread, which was the only dinner allowed him. +Of course, the boys were tempted to regale themselves more luxuriously, +but they incurred a great risk in doing so. Sometimes the padrone +followed them secretly, or employed others to do so, and so was able to +detect them. Besides, they traveled, in general, by twos and threes, +and the system of espionage was encouraged by the padrone. So mutual +distrust was inspired, and the fear of being reported made the boys +honest. + +Phil left the house of Mr. Leigh in good spirits. Though he had earned +nothing before, the fifty cents he had just received made a good +beginning, and inspired in him the hope of getting together enough to +save him a beating, for one night at least. + +He walked down toward Sixth Avenue, and turning the corner walked down +town. At length he paused in front of a tobacconist’s shop, and began to +play. But he had chosen an unfortunate time and place. The tobacconist +had just discovered a deficiency in his money account, which he +suspected to be occasioned by the dishonesty of his assistant. In +addition to this he had risen with a headache, so that he was in a +decidedly bad humor. Music had no charms for him at that moment, and he +no sooner heard the first strains of Phil’s violin than he rushed from +the shop bareheaded, and dashed impetuously at the young fiddler. + +“Get away from my shop, you little vagabond!” he cried. “If I had my +way, you should all be sent out of the country.” + +Phil was quick to take a hint. He saw the menace in the shopkeeper’s +eyes, and, stopping abruptly, ran farther down the street, hugging his +fiddle, which he was afraid the angry tobacconist might seize and break. +This, to him, would be an irreparable misfortune and subject him to a +severe punishment, though the fault would not be his. + +Next he strolled into a side street, and began to play in front of some +dwelling-houses. Two or three young children, who had been playing in +the street, gathered about him, and one of them gave him a penny. They +were clamorous for another tune, but Phil could not afford to work for +nothing, and, seeing no prospects of additional pay, took his violin, +and walked away, much to the regret of his young auditors, who, though +not rich, were appreciative. They followed him to the end of the block, +hoping that he would play again, but they were disappointed. + +Phil played two or three times more, managing to obtain in all +twenty-five cents additional. He reached the corner of Thirteenth Street +just as the large public school, known as the Thirteenth Street School, +was dismissed for its noon intermission. + +“Give us a tune, Johnny,” cried Edward Eustis, one of the oldest boys. + +“Yes, a tune,” joined in several others. + +This was an invitation to which Phil was always willing to respond. +Besides, he knew from experience that boys were more generous, in +proportion to their means, than those of larger growth, and he hoped to +get enough from the crowd around him to increase his store to a dollar. + +The boys gathered around the little minstrel, who struck up an Italian +tune, but without the words. + +“Sing, sing!” cried the boys. + +Phil began to sing. His clear, fresh voice produced a favorable +impression upon the boys. + +“He’s a bully singer,” said one. “I can’t sing much better myself.” + +“You sing! Your singing would be enough to scare a dozen tom cats.” + +“Then we should be well matched. Look here, Johnny, can’t you sing +something in English?” + +Phil, in response to this request, played and sang “Shoo Fly!” which +suiting the boys’ taste, he was called upon to repeat. + +The song being finished, Edward Eustis took off his cap, and went around +the circle. + +“Now, boys, you have a chance to show your liberality,” he said. “I’ll +start the collection with five cents.” + +“That’s ahead of me,” said James Marcus. “Justice to a large and +expensive family will prevent me contributing anything more than two +cents.” + +“The smallest favors thankfully received,” said Edward. + +“Then take that, and be thankful,” said Tom Lane, dropping in a penny. + +“I haven’t got any money,” said Frank Gaylord, “but here’s an apple;” + and he dropped a large red apple into the cap. + +Phil; watching with interest the various contributions, was best pleased +with the last. The money he must carry to the padrone. The apple he +might keep for himself, and it would vary agreeably his usual meager +fare. + +“The biggest contribution yet,” said Edward. + +“Here, Sprague, you are liberal. What’ll you give?” + +“My note at ninety days.” + +“You might fail before it comes due.” + +“Then take three cents. ‘Tis all I have; ‘I can no more, though poor the +offering be.’” + +“Oh, don’t quote Shakespeare.” + +“It isn’t Shakespeare; it’s Milton.” + +“Just as much one as the other.” + +“Here, Johnny,” said Edward, after going the rounds, “hold your hands, +and I’ll pour out the money. You can retire from business now on a +fortune.” + +Phil was accustomed to be addressed as Johnny, that being the generic +name for boy in New York. He deposited the money in his pocket, and, +taking his fiddle, played once more in acknowledgment of the donation. +The boys now dispersed, leaving Phil to go on his way. He took out the +apple with the intention of eating it, when a rude boy snatched it from +his hand. + +“Give it back,” said Phil, angrily. + +“Don’t you wish you may get it?” said the other, holding it out of his +reach. + +The young musician had little chance of redress, his antagonist was a +head taller than himself, and, besides, he would not have dared lay down +his fiddle to fight, lest it might be broken. + +“Give it to me,” he said, stamping his foot. + +“I mean to eat it myself,” said the other, coolly. “It’s too good for +the likes of you.” + +“You’re a thief.” + +“Don’t you call me names, you little Italian ragamuffin, or I’ll hit +you,” said the other, menacingly. + +“It is my apple.” + +“I’m going to eat it.” + +But the speaker was mistaken. As he held the apple above his head, it +was suddenly snatched from him. He looked around angrily, and confronted +Edward Eustis, who, seeing Phil’s trouble from a little distance, had at +once come to his rescue. + +“What did you do that for?” demanded the thief. + +“What did you take the boy’s apple for?” + +“Because I felt like it.” + +“Then I took it from you for the same reason.” + +“Do you want to fight?” blustered the rowdy. + +“Not particularly.” + +“Then hand me back that apple,” returned the other. + +“Thank you; I shall only hand it to the rightful owner--that little +Italian boy. Are you not ashamed to rob him?” + +“Do you want to get hit?” + +“I wouldn’t advise you to do it.” + +The rowdy looked at the boy who confronted him. Edward was slightly +smaller, but there was a determined look in his eye which the bully, +who, like those of his class generally, was a coward at heart, did not +like. He mentally decided that it would be safer not to provoke him. + +“Come here, Johnny, and take your apple,” said Edward. + +Phil advanced, and received back his property with satisfaction. + +“You’d better eat it now. I’ll see that he doesn’t disturb you.” + +Phil followed the advice of his new friend promptly. He had eaten +nothing since seven o’clock, and then only a piece of dry bread and +cheese, and the apple, a rare luxury, he did not fail to relish. His +would-be robber scowled at him meanwhile, for he had promised himself +the pleasure of dispatching the fruit. Edward stood by till the apple +was eaten, and then turned away. The rowdy made a movement as if to +follow Phil, but Edward quickly detected him, and came back. + +“Don’t you dare touch him,” he said, significantly, “or you’ll have to +settle accounts with me. Do you see that policeman? I am going to ask +him to have an eye on you. You’d better look out for yourself.” + +The other turned at the caution, and seeing the approach of one of the +Metropolitan police quickly vanished. He had a wholesome fear of +these guardians of the public peace, and did not care to court their +attention. + +Edward turned away, but in a moment felt a hand tugging at his coat. +Looking around, he saw that it was Phil. + +“Grazia, signore,” said Phil, gratefully. + +“I suppose that means ‘Thank you’?” + +Phil nodded. + +“All right, Johnny! I am glad I was by to save you from that bully.” + + + +CHAPTER III + +GIACOMO + +After eating the apple Phil decided to buy his frugal dinner. He, +therefore, went into a baker’s shop, and bought two penny rolls and a +piece of cheese. It was not a very luxurious repast, but with the apple +it was better than usual. A few steps from the shop door he met another +Italian boy, who was bound to the same padrone. + +“How much money have you, Giacomo?” asked Phil, speaking, of course, in +his native tongue. + +“Forty cents. How much have you?” + +“A dollar and twenty cents.” + +“You are very lucky, Filippo.” + +“A rich signora gave me fifty cents for playing to her sick boy. Then I +sang for some schoolboys, and they gave me some money.” + +“I am afraid the padrone will beat me to-night.” + +“He has not beat me for a week.” + +“Have you had dinner, Filippo?” + +“Yes, I had some bread and cheese, and an apple.” + +“Did you buy the apple?” + +“No; one of the schoolboys gave it to me. It was very good,” said Phil, +in a tone of enjoyment. “I had not eaten one for a long time.” + +“Nor I. Do you remember, Filippo, the oranges we had in Italy?” + +“I remember them well.” + +“I was happy then,” said Giacomo, sighing. “There was no padrone to beat +me, and I could run about and play. Now I have to sing and play all day. +I am so tired sometimes,--so tired, Filippo.” + +“You are not so strong as I, Giacomo,” said Phil, looking with some +complacency at his own stout limbs. + +“Don’t you get tired, Filippo?” + +“Yes, often; but I don’t care so much for that. But I don’t like the +winter.” + +“I thought I should die with cold sometimes last winter,” said Giacomo, +shuddering. “Do you ever expect to go back to Italy, Filippo?” + +“Sometime.” + +“I wish I could go now. I should like to see my dear mother and my +sisters.” + +“And your father?” + +“I don’t want to see him,” said Giacomo, bitterly. “He sold me to the +padrone. My mother wept bitterly when I went away, but my father only +thought of the money.” + +Filippo and Giacomo were from the same town in Calabria. They were the +sons of Italian peasants who had been unable to resist the offers of the +padrone, and for less than a hundred dollars each had sold his son into +the cruelest slavery. The boys were torn from their native hills, from +their families, and in a foreign land were doomed to walk the streets +from fourteen to sixteen hours in every twenty-four, gathering money +from which they received small benefit. Many times, as they trudged +through the streets, weary and hungry, sometimes cold, they thought with +homesick sadness of the sunny fields in which their earliest years had +been passed, but the hard realities of the life they were now leading +soon demanded their attention. + +Naturally light-hearted, Filippo, or Phil, bore his hard lot more +cheerfully than some of his comrades. But Giacomo was more delicate, and +less able to bear want and fatigue. His livelier comrade cheered him up, +and Giacomo always felt better after talking with Phil. + +As the two boys were walking together, a heavy hand was laid on the +shoulder of each, and a harsh voice said: “Is this the way you waste +your time, little rascals?” + +Both boys started, and looking up, recognized the padrone. He was a +short man, very dark with fierce black eyes and a sinister countenance. +It was his habit to walk about the streets from time to time, and keep a +watch, unobserved, upon his young apprentices, if they may be so called. +If he found them loitering about, or neglecting their work, they were +liable to receive a sharp reminder. + +The boys were both startled at his sudden appearance, but after +the first start, Phil, who was naturally courageous, recovered his +self-possession. Not so with Giacomo, who was the more afraid because he +knew he had gained but little money thus far. + +“We are not wasting our time, padrone,” said Phil, looking up +fearlessly. + +“We will see about that. How long have you been together?” + +“Only five minutes.” + +“How much money have you, Filippo?” + +“A dollar and twenty cents.” + +“Good; you have done well. And how is it with you, Giacomo?” + +“I have forty cents.” + +“Then you have been idle,” said the padrone, frowning. + +“No, signore,” said the boy, trembling. “I have played, but they did not +give me much money.” + +“It is not his fault,” said Phil, coming boldly to the defense of his +friend. + +“Attend to your own affairs, little scrape-grace,” said the padrone, +roughly. “He might have got as much as you.” + +“No, padrone; I was lucky. A kind lady gave me fifty cents.” + +“That is not my affair. I don’t care where you get the money. But if you +don’t bring home all I expect, you shall feel the stick.” + +These last words were addressed to Giacomo, who understood their import +only too well. In the miserable lodging where he herded with thirty or +forty others scarcely a night passed without the brutal punishment of +one or more unfortunate boys, who had been unsuccessful in bringing home +enough to satisfy the rapacity of the padrone. But of this an account +will hereafter be given. + +“Now, go to work, both of you,” said the padrone, harshly. + +The two boys separated. Giacomo went uptown, while Phil kept on his way +toward the Astor House. The padrone made his way to the nearest liquor +shop, where he invested a portion of the money wrung from the hard +earnings of his young apprentices. + +Toward the close of the afternoon Phil found himself in front of the +Astor House. He had played several times, but was not fortunate in +finding liberal auditors. He had secured but ten cents during this time, +and it seemed doubtful whether he would reach the sum he wanted. He +crossed over to the City Hall Park, and, feeling tired, sat down on one +of the benches. Two bootblacks were already seated upon it. + +“Play us a tune, Johnny,” said one. + +“Will you give me pennies?” asked Phil doubtfully, for he did not care, +with such a severe taskmaster, to work for nothing. + +“Yes, we’ll give you pennies.” + +Upon this, Phil struck up a tune. + +“Where’s your monkey?” asked one of the boys. + +“I have no monkey.” + +“If you want a monkey, here’s one for you,” said Tim Rafferty, putting +his hand on his companion’s shoulder. + +“He’s too big,” said Phil, laughing. + +“Hould yer gab, Tim Rafferty,” said the other. “It’s you that’ll make a +better monkey nor I. Say, Johnny, do you pay your monkeys well?” + +“Give me my pennies,” said Phil, with an eye to business. + +“Play another tune, then.” + +Phil obeyed directions. When he had finished, a contribution was taken +up, but it only amounted to seven cents. However, considering the +character of the audience, this was as much as could be expected. + +“How much have you made to-day, Johnny?” asked Tim. + +“A dollar,” said Phil. + +“A dollar! That’s more nor I have made. I tell you what, boys, I think +I’ll buy a fiddle myself. I’ll make more money that way than blackin’ +boots.” + +“A great fiddler you’d make, Tim Rafferty.” + +“Can’t I play, then? Lend me your fiddle, Johnny, till I try it a +little.” + +Phil shook his head. + +“Give it to me now; I won’t be hurtin’ it.” + +“You’ll break it.” + +“Then I’ll pay for it.” + +“It isn’t mine.” + +“Whose is it, then?” + +“The padrone’s.” + +“And who’s the padrone?” + +“The man I live with. If the fiddle is broken, he will beat me.” + +“Then he’s an ould haythen, and you may tell him so, with Tim Rafferty’s +compliments. But I won’t hurt it.” + +Phil, however, feared to trust the violin in unskillful hands. He knew +the penalty if any harm befell it, and he had no mind to run the +risk. So he rose from the seat, and withdrew to a little distance, Tim +Rafferty following, for, though he cared little at first, he now felt +determined to try the fiddle. + +“If you don’t give it to me I’ll put a head on you,” he said. + +“You shall not have it,” said Phil, firmly, for he, too, could be +determined. + +“The little chap’s showing fight,” said Tim’s companion. “Look out, Tim; +he’ll mash you.” + +“I can fight him wid one hand,” said Tim. + +He advanced upon our young hero, who, being much smaller, would probably +have been compelled to yield to superior force but for an interference +entirely unexpected by Tim. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +AN INVITATION TO SUPPER + +Tim had raised his fist to strike the young fiddler, when he was +suddenly pushed aside with considerable force, and came near measuring +his length on the ground. + +“Who did that?” he cried, angrily, recovering his equilibrium. + +“I did it,” said a calm voice. + +Tim recognized in the speaker Paul Hoffman, whom some of my readers will +remember as “Paul the Peddler.” Paul was proprietor of a necktie stand +below the Astor House, and was just returning home to supper. + +He was a brave and manly boy, and his sympathies were always in favor of +the oppressed. He had met Phil before, and talked with him, and seeing +him in danger came to his assistance. + +“What made you push me?” demanded Tim, fiercely. + +“What were you going to do to him?” rejoined Paul, indicating the +Italian boy. + +“I was only goin’ to borrer his fiddle.” + +“He would have broken it,” said Phil. + +“You don’t know how to play,” said Paul. “You would have broken his +fiddle, and then he would be beaten.” + +“I would pay for it if I did,” said Tim. + +“You say so, but you wouldn’t. Even if you did, it would take time, and +the boy would have suffered.” + +“What business is that of yours?” demanded Tim, angrily. + +“It is always my business when I see a big boy teasing a little one.” + +“You’ll get hurt some day,” said Tim, suddenly. + +“Not by you,” returned Paul, not particularly alarmed. + +Tim would have gladly have punished Paul on the spot for his +interference, but he did not consider it prudent to provoke hostilities. +Paul was as tall as himself, and considerably stronger. He therefore +wisely confined himself to threatening words. + +“Come along with me, Phil,” said Paul, kindly, to the little fiddler. + +“Thank you for saving me,” said Phil, gratefully. “The padrone would +beat me if the fiddle was broke.” + +“Never mind about thanks, Phil. Tim is a bully with small boys, but he +is a coward among large ones. Have you had any supper?” + +“No,” said Phil. + +“Won’t you come home and take supper with me?” + +Phil hesitated. + +“You are kind,” he said, “but I fear the padrone.” + +“What will he do to you?” + +“He will beat me if I don’t bring home enough money.” + +“How much more must you get?” + +“Sixty cents.” + +“You can play better after a good supper. Come along; I won’t keep you +long.” + +Phil made no more objection. He was a healthy boy, and his wanderings +had given him a good appetite. So he thanked Paul, and walked along by +his side. One object Paul had in inviting him was, the fear that Tim +Rafferty might take advantage of his absence to renew his assault upon +Phil, and with better success than before. + +“How old are you, Phil?” he asked. + +“Twelve years.” + +“And who taught you to play?” + +“No one. I heard the other boys play, and so I learned.” + +“Do you like it?” + +“Sometimes; but I get tired of it.” + +“I don’t wonder. I should think playing day after day might tire you. +What are you going to do when you become a man?” + +Phil shrugged his shoulders. + +“I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’ll go back to Italy.” + +“Have you any relations there?” + +“I have a mother and two sisters.” + +“And a father?” + +“Yes, a father.” + +“Why did they let you come away?” + +“The padrone gave my father money.” + +“Don’t you hear anything from home?” + +“No, signore.” + +“I am not a signore,” said Paul, smiling. “You may call me Paul. Is that +an Italian name?” + +“Me call it Paolo.” + +“That sounds queer to me. What’s James in Italian?” + +“Giacomo.” + +“Then I have a little brother Giacomo.” + +“How old is he?” + +“Eight years old.” + +“My sister Bettina is eight years. I wish I could see her.” + +“You will see her again some day, Phil. You will get rich in America, +and go back to sunny Italy.” + +“The padrone takes all my money.” + +“You’ll get away from the old rascal some day. Keep up good courage, +Phil, and all will come right. But here we are. Follow me upstairs, and +I will introduce you to my mother and Giacomo,” said Paul, laughing at +the Italian name he had given his little brother. + +Mrs. Hoffman and Jimmy looked with some surprise at the little fiddler +as he entered with Paul. + +“Mother,” said Paul, “this is one of my friends, whom I have invited to +take supper with us.” + +“He is welcome,” said Mrs. Hoffman, kindly. “Have you ever spoken to us +of him?” + +“I am not sure. His name is Phil--Phil the fiddler, we call him.” + +“Filippo,” said the young musician. + +“We will call you Phil; it is easier to speak,” said Paul. “This is my +little brother Jimmy. He is a great artist.” + +“Now you are laughing at me, Paul,” said the little boy. + +“Well, he is going to be a great artist some day, if he isn’t one yet. +Do you think, Jimmy, you could draw Phil, here, with his fiddle?” + +“I think I could,” said the little boy, slowly, looking carefully at +their young guest; “but it would take some time.” + +“Perhaps Phil will come some day, and give you a sitting.” + +“Will you come?” asked Jimmy. + +“I will come some day.” + +Meanwhile Mrs. Hoffman was preparing supper. Since Paul had become +proprietor of the necktie stand, as described in the last volume, they +were able to live with less regard to economy than before. So, when the +table was spread, it presented quite a tempting appearance. Beefsteak, +rolls, fried potatoes, coffee, and preserves graced the board. + +“Supper is ready, Paul,” said his mother, when all was finished. + +“Here, Phil, you may sit here at my right hand,” said Paul. “I will put +your violin where it will not be injured.” + +Phil sat down as directed, not without feeling a little awkward, yet +with a sense of anticipated pleasure. Accustomed to bread and cheese +alone, the modest repast before him seemed like a royal feast. The meat +especially attracted him, for he had not tasted any for months, indeed +seldom in his life, for in Italy it is seldom eaten by the class to +which Phil’s parents belonged. + +“Let me give you some meat, Phil,” said Paul. “Now, shall we drink the +health of the padrone in coffee?” + +“I will not drink his health,” said Phil. “He is a bad man.” + +“Who is the padrone?” asked Jimmy, curiously. + +“He is my master. He sends me out to play for money.” + +“And must you give all the money you make to him?” + +“Yes; if I do not bring much money, he will beat me.” + +“Then he must be a bad man. Why do you live with him?” + +“He bought me from my father.” + +“He bought you?” repeated Jimmy, puzzled. + +“He hires him for so much money,” explained Paul. + +“But why did your father let you go with a bad man?” asked Jimmy. + +“He wanted the money,” said Phil. “He cared more for money than for me.” + +What wonder that the boys sold into such cruel slavery should be +estranged from the fathers who for a few paltry ducats sell the liberty +and happiness of their children. Even where the contract is for a +limited terms of years, the boys in five cases out of ten are not +returned at the appointed time. A part, unable to bear the hardships and +privations of the life upon which they enter, are swept off by death, +while of those that survive, a part are weaned from their homes, or are +not permitted to go back. + +“You must not ask too many questions, Jimmy.” said Mrs. Hoffman, fearing +that he might awaken sad thoughts in the little musician. + +She was glad to see that Phil ate with a good appetite. In truth he +relished the supper, which was the best he remembered to have tasted for +many a long day. + +“Is Italy like America?” asked Jimmy, whose curiosity was excited to +learn something of Phil’s birthplace. + +“It is much nicer,” said Phil, with a natural love of country. “There +are olive trees and orange trees, and grapes--very many.” + +“Are there really orange trees? Have you seen them grow?” + +“I have picked them from the trees many times.” + +“I should like that, but I don’t care for olives.” + +“They are good, too.” + +“I should like the grapes.” + +“There are other things in Italy which you would like better, Jimmy,” + said Paul. + +“What do you mean, Paul?” + +“The galleries of fine paintings.” + +“Yes, I should like to see them. Have you seen them?” + +Phil shook his head. The picture galleries are in the cities, and not in +the country district where he was born. + +“Sometime, when I am rich, we will all go to Italy, Jimmy; then, if Phil +is at home, we will go and see him.” + +“I should like that, Paul.” + +Though Jimmy was not yet eight years old, he had already exhibited +a remarkable taste for drawing, and without having received any +instruction, could copy any ordinary picture with great exactness. It +was the little boy’s ambition to become an artist, and in this ambition +he was encouraged by Paul, who intended, as soon as he could afford it, +to engage an instructor for Jimmy. + + + +CHAPTER V + +ON THE FERRY BOAT + +When supper was over, Phil bethought himself that his day’s work was not +yet over. He had still a considerable sum to obtain before he dared go +home, if such a name can be given to the miserable tenement in Crosby +Street where he herded with his companions. But before going he wished +to show his gratitude to Paul for his protection and the supper which he +had so much and so unexpectedly enjoyed. + +“Shall I play for you?” he asked, taking his violin from the top of the +bureau, where Paul had placed it. + +“Will you?” asked Jimmy, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. + +“We should be very glad to hear you,” said Mrs. Hoffman. + +Phil played his best, for he felt that he was playing for friends. After +a short prelude, he struck into an Italian song. Though the words were +unintelligible, the little party enjoyed the song. + +“Bravo, Phil!” said Paul. “You sing almost as well as I do.” + +Jimmy laughed. + +“You sing about as well as you draw,” said the little boy. + +“There you go again with your envy and jealousy,” said Paul, in an +injured tone. “Others appreciate me better.” + +“Sing something, and we will judge of your merits,” said his mother. + +“Not now,” said Paul, shaking his head. “My feelings are too deeply +injured. But if he has time, Phil will favor us with another song.” + +So the little fiddler once more touched the strings of his violin, and +sang the hymn of Garibaldi. + +“He has a beautiful voice,” said Mrs. Hoffman to Paul. + +“Yes, Phil sings much better than most of his class. Shall I bring him +up here again?” + +“Any time, Paul. We shall always be glad to see him.” + +Here Phil took his cap and prepared to depart. + +“Good-by,” he said in English. “I thank you all for your kindness.” + +“Will you come again?” said Mrs. Hoffman. “We shall be glad to have +you.” + +“Do come,” pleaded Jimmy, who had taken a fancy to the dark-eyed Italian +boy, whose brilliant brown complexion contrasted strongly with his own +pale face and blue eyes. + +These words gave Phil a strange pleasure. Since his arrival in America +he had become accustomed to harsh words and blows; but words of kindness +were strangers to his ears. For an hour he forgot the street and his +uninviting home, and felt himself surrounded by a true home atmosphere. +He almost fancied himself in his Calabrian home, with his mother and +sisters about him--in his home as it was before cupidity entered his +father’s heart and impelled him to sell his own flesh and blood into +slavery in a foreign land. Phil could not analyze his own emotions, +but these were the feelings which rose in his heart, and filed it with +transient sadness. + +“I thank you much,” he said. “I will come again some day.” + +“Come soon, Phil,” said Paul. “You know where my necktie stand is. Come +there any afternoon between four and five, and I will take you home to +supper. Do you know the way out, or shall I go with you?” + +“I know the way,” said Phil. + +He went downstairs and once more found himself on the sidewalk. It was +but six o’clock, and five or six hours were still before him before he +could feel at liberty to go home. Should he return too early, he would +be punished for losing the possible gains of the hour he had lost, even +if the sum he brought home were otherwise satisfactory. So, whatever may +be his fatigue, or however inclement the weather, the poor Italian boy +is compelled to stay out till near midnight, before he is permitted to +return to the hard pallet on which only he can sleep off his fatigues. + +Again in the street, Phil felt that he must make up for lost time. Now +six o’clock is not a very favorable time for street music; citizens who +do business downtown have mostly gone home to dinner. Those who have +not started are in haste, and little disposed to heed the appeal of +the young minstrel. Later the saloons will be well frequented, and not +seldom the young fiddlers may pick up a few, sometimes a considerable +number of pennies, by playing at the doors of these places, or within, +if they should be invited to enter; but at six there is not much to be +done. + +After a little reflection, Phil determined to go down to Fulton Ferry +and got on board the Brooklyn steamboat. He might get a chance to play +to the passengers, and some, no doubt, would give him something. At any +rate, the investment would be small, since for one fare, or two cents, +he might ride back and forward several times, as long as he did not step +off the boat. He, therefore, directed his steps toward the ferry, and +arrived just in time to go on board the boat. + +The boat was very full. So large a number of the people in Brooklyn are +drawn to New York by business and pleasure, that the boats, particularly +in the morning from seven to nine, and in the afternoon, from five to +seven, go loaded down with foot passengers and carriages. + +Phil entered the ladies’ cabin. Though ostensibly confined to ladies’ +use, it was largely occupied also by gentlemen who did not enjoy the +smoke which usually affects disagreeably the atmosphere of the cabin +appropriated to their own sex. Our young musician knew that to children +the hearts and purses of ladies are more likely to open than those of +gentlemen, and this guided him. + +Entering, he found every seat taken. He waited till the boat had +started, and then, taking his position in the center of the rear +cabin, he began to play and sing, fixing at once the attention of the +passengers upon himself. + +“That boy’s a nuisance; he ought not to be allowed to play on the boat,” + muttered an old gentleman, looking up from the columns of the Evening +Post. + +“Now, papa,” said a young lady at his side, “why need you object to the +poor boy? I am sure he sings very nicely. I like to hear him.” + +“I don’t.” + +“You know, papa, you have no taste for music. Why, you went to sleep at +the opera the other evening.” + +“I tried to,” said her father, in whom musical taste had a very limited +development. “It was all nonsense to me.” + +“He is singing the Hymn of Garibaldi. What a sweet voice he has! Such a +handsome little fellow, too!” + +“He has a dirty face, and his clothes are quite ragged.” + +“But he has beautiful eyes; see how brilliant they are. No wonder he is +dirty and ragged; it isn’t his fault, poor boy. I have no doubt he has a +miserable home. I’m going to give him something.” + +“Just as you like, Florence; as I am not a romantic young damsel, I +shall not follow your example.”’ + +By this time the song was finished, and Phil, taking off his cap, went +the rounds. None of the contributions were larger than five cents, +until he came to the young lady of whom we have spoken above. She drew +a twenty-five-cent piece from her portemonnaie, and put it into Phil’s +hand, with a gracious smile, which pleased the young fiddler as much as +the gift, welcome though that undoubtedly was. + +“Thank you, lady,” he said. + +“You sing very nicely,” she replied. + +Phil smiled, and dirty though his face was, the smile lighted it up with +rare beauty. + +“Do you often come on these boats?” asked the young lady. + +“Sometimes, but they do not always let me play,” said Phil. + +“I hope I shall hear you again. You have a good voice.” + +“Thank you, signorina.” + +“You can speak English. I tried to speak with one of you the other day, +but he could only speak Italian.” + +“I know a few words, signorina.” + +“I hope I shall see you again,” and the young lady, prompted by a +natural impulse of kindness, held out her hand to the little musician. +He took it respectfully, and bending over, touched it with his lips. + +The young lady, to whom this was quite unexpected, smiled and blushed, +by no means offended, but she glanced round her to see whether it was +observed by others. + +“Upon my word, Florence,” said her father, as Phil moved away, “you have +got up quite a scene with this little ragged musician. I am rather +glad he is not ten or twelve years older, or there might be a romantic +elopement.” + +“Now, papa, you are too bad,” said Florence. “Just because I choose to +be kind to a poor, neglected child, you fancy all sorts of improbable +things.” + +“I don’t know where you get all your foolish romance from--not from me, +I am sure.” + +“I should think not,” said Florence, laughing merrily. “Your worst enemy +won’t charge you with being romantic, papa.” + +“I hope not,” said her father, shrugging his shoulders. “But the boat +has touched the pier. Shall we go on shore, or have you any further +business with your young Italian friend?” + +“Not to-day, papa.” + +The passengers vacated the boat, and were replaced by a smaller number, +on their way from Brooklyn to New York. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE BARROOM + +Phil did not leave the boat. He lingered in the cabin until the +passengers were seated, and after the boat was again under way began to +play. This time, however, he was not as fortunate as before. While in +the midst of a tune one of the men employed on the boat entered the +cabin. At times he would not have interfered with him, but he happened +to be in ill humor, and this proved unfortunate for Phil. + +“Stop your noise, boy,” he said. + +Phil looked up. + +“May I not play?” + +“No; nobody wants to hear you.” + +The young fiddler did not dare to disobey. He saw that for the present +his gains were at an end. However, he had enough to satisfy the rapacity +of the padrone, and could afford to stop. He took a seat, and waited +quietly till the boat landed. One of the lady passengers, as she passed +him on her way out of the cabin, placed ten cents in his hand. This +led him to count up his gains. He found they amounted to precisely two +dollars and fifty cents. + +“I need not play any more,” he thought. “I shall not be beaten +to-night.” + +He found his seat so comfortable, especially after wandering about the +streets all day, that he remained on the boat for two more trips. Then, +taking his violin under his arm, he went out on the pier. + +It was half-past seven o’clock. He would like to have gone to his +lodging, but knew that it would not be permitted. In this respect the +Italian fiddler is not as well off as those who ply other street trades. +Newsboys and bootblacks are their own masters, and, whether their +earnings are little or great, reap the benefit of them themselves. They +can stop work at six if they like, or earlier; but the little Italian +musician must remain in the street till near midnight, and then, after +a long and fatiguing day, he is liable to be beaten and sent to bed +without his supper, unless he brings home a satisfactory sum of money. + +Phil walked about here and there in the lower part of the city. As he +was passing a barroom he was called in by the barkeeper. + +“Give us a tune, boy,” he said. + +It was a low barroom, frequented by sailors and a rough set of customers +of similar character. The red face of the barkeeper showed that he drank +very liberally, and the atmosphere was filled with the fumes of bad +cigars and bad liquor. The men were ready for a good time, as they +called it, and it was at the suggestion of one of them that Phil had +been invited in. + +“Play a tune on your fiddle, you little ragamuffin,” said one. + +Phil cared little how he was addressed. He was at the service of the +public, and what he chiefly cared for was that he be paid for his +services. + +“What shall I play?” he asked. + +“Anything,” hiccoughed one. “It’s all the same to me. I don’t know one +tune from another.” + +The young fiddler played one of the popular airs of the day. He did not +undertake to sing, for the atmosphere was so bad that he could hardly +avoid coughing. He was anxious to get out into the street, but he did +not wish to refuse playing. When he had finished his tune, one of +those present, a sailor, cried, “That’s good. Step up, boys, and have a +drink.” + +The invitation was readily accepted by all except Phil. Noticing that +the boy kept his place, the sailor said, “Step up, boy, and wet your +whistle.” + +Phil liked the weak wines of his native land, but he did not care for +the poisonous decoctions of be found in such places. + +“I am not thirsty,” he said. + +“Yes, you are; here, give this boy a glass of brandy.” + +“I do not want it,” said Phil. + +“You won’t drink with us,” exclaimed the sailor, who had then enough to +be quarrelsome. “Then I’ll make you;” and he brought down his fist so +heavily upon the counter as to make the glasses rattle. “Then I’ll make +you. Here, give me a glass, and I’ll pour it down his throat.” + +The fiddler was frightened at his vehemence, and darted to the door. But +the sailor was too quick for him. Overtaking Phil, he dragged him +back with a rough grasp, and held out his hand for the glass. But an +unexpected friend now turned up. + +“Oh, let the boy go, Jack,” said a fellow sailor. “If he don’t want to +drink, don’t force him.” + +But his persecutor was made ugly by his potations, and swore that Phil +should drink before he left the barroom. + +“That he shall not,” said his new friend. + +“Who is to prevent it?” demanded Jack, fiercely. + +“I will.” + +“Then I’ll pour a glass down your throat, too,” returned Jack, +menacingly. + +“No need of that. I am ready enough to drink. But the boy shan’t drink, +if he don’t want to.” + +“He shall!” retorted the first sailor, with an oath. + +Still holding Phil by the shoulder with one hand, with the other he took +a glass which had just been filled with brandy; he was about to pour it +down his throat, when the glass was suddenly dashed from his hand and +broke upon the floor. + +With a fresh oath Jack released his hold on Phil, and, maddened with +rage, threw himself upon the other. Instantly there was a general melee. +Phil did not wait to see the result. He ran to the door, and, emerging +into the street, ran away till he had placed a considerable distance +between himself and the disorderly and drunken party in the barroom. The +fight there continued until the police, attracted by the noise, forced +an entrance and carried away the whole party to the station-house, where +they had a chance to sleep off their potations. + +Freed from immediate danger, the young fiddler kept on his way. He had +witnessed such scenes before, as he had often been into barrooms to +play in the evening. He had not been paid for his trouble, but he cared +little for that, as the money would have done him no good. He would only +have been compelled to pass it over to the padrone. These boys, even +at a tender age, are necessarily made familiar with the darker side of +metropolitan life. Vice and crime are displayed before their young eyes, +and if they do not themselves become vicious, it is not for the want of +knowledge and example. + +It would be tedious to follow Phil in his wanderings. We have already +had a glimpse of the manner in which the days passed with him; only +it is to be said that this was a favorable specimen. He had been more +fortunate in collecting money than usual. Besides, he had had a better +dinner than usual, thanks to the apple, and a supper such as he had not +tasted for months. + +About ten o’clock, as he was walking on the Bowery, he met Giacomo, his +companion of the morning. + +The little boy was dragging one foot after the other wearily. There was +a sad look on his young face, for he had not been successful, and he +knew too well how he would be received by the padrone. Yet his face +lighted up as he saw Phil. Often before Phil had encouraged him when he +was despondent. He looked upon our young hero as his only friend; for +there was no other of the boys who seemed to care for him or able to +help him. + +“Is it you, Filippo?” he said. + +“Yes, Giacomo. What luck have you had?” + +“Not much. I have only a little more than a dollar. I am so tired; but I +don’t dare go back. The padrone will beat me.” + +An idea came to Phil. He did not know how much money he had; but he was +sure it must be considerably more than two dollars, Why should he not +give some to his friend to make up his deficiencies, and so perhaps save +him from punishment? + +“I have had better luck,” he said. “I have almost three dollars.” + +“You are always luckier than I, Filippo.” + +“I am stronger, Giacomo. It does not tire me so much to walk about.” + +“You can sing, too. I cannot sing very much, and I do not get so much +money.” + +“Tell me just how much money you have, Giacomo.” + +“I have a dollar and thirty cents,” said Giacomo, after counting the +contents of his pockets. + +Meanwhile Phil had been doing the same thing. The result of his count +was that he found he had two dollars and eighty cents. + +“Listen, Giacomo,” he said. “I will give you enough to make two +dollars.” + +“But then you will be beaten.” + +“No; I shall have two dollars and five cents left. Then neither of us +will get beaten.” + +“How kind you are, Filippo!” + +“Oh, it is nothing. Besides, I do not want to carry too much, or the +padrone will expect me to bring as much every day, and that I cannot do. +So it will be better for us both.” + +The transfer was quickly made, and the two boys kept together until they +heard the clock strike eleven. It was now so late that they determined +to return to their miserable lodging, for both were tired and longed for +sleep. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE HOME OF THE BOYS + +It was a quarter-past eleven when Phil and Giacomo entered the shabby +brick house which they called home, for want of a better. From fifteen +to twenty of their companions had already arrived, and the padrone was +occupied in receiving their several contributions. The apartment was +a mean one, miserably furnished, but seemed befitting the principal +occupant, whose dark face was marked by an expression of greed, and +alternately showed satisfaction or disappointment as the contents of the +boys’ pockets were satisfactory or otherwise. Those who had done badly +were set apart for punishment. + +He looked up as the two boys entered. + +“Well, Filippo,” he said, harshly, “how much have you got?” + +Phil handed over his earnings. They were up to the required limit, but +the padrone looked only half satisfied. + +“Is that all you have?” he asked, suspiciously. + +“It is all, signore.” + +“You have not done well this afternoon, then. When I met you at twelve +o’clock you had more than a dollar.” + +“It was because a good signora gave me fifty cents.” + +The padrone, still suspicious, plunging his hands into Phil’s pockets, +but in vain. He could not find another penny. + +“Take off your shoes and stockings,” he said, still unsatisfied. + +Phil obediently removed his shoes and stockings, but no money was found +concealed, as the padrone half suspected. Sometimes these poor boys, +beset by a natural temptation, secrete a portion of their daily +earnings. Whenever they are detected, woe betide them. The padrone makes +an example of them, inflicting a cruel punishment, in order to deter +other boys from imitating them. + +Having discovered nothing, he took Phil’s violin, and proceeded to +Giacomo. + +“Now for you,” he said. + +Giacomo handed over his money. The padrone was surprised in turn, but +his surprise was of a different nature. He had expected to find him +deficient, knowing that he was less enterprising than Phil. He was glad +to get more money than he expected, but a little disappointed that he +had no good excuse for beating him; for he had one of those hard, cruel +natures that delight in inflicting pain and anguish upon others. + +“Take care that you do as well to-morrow,” he said. “Go and get your +supper.” + +One of the larger boys was distributing bread and cheese to the hungry +boys. Nearly all ate as if famished, plain and uninviting as was the +supper, for they had been many hours without food. But Phil, who, as +we know, had eaten a good supper at Mrs. Hoffman’s, felt very little +appetite. He slyly gave his bread to one of the boys, who, on account of +the small sum he brought home, had been sentenced to go without. But the +sharp eyes of the padrone, which, despite his occupation, managed to see +all that was going on, detected this action, and he became suspicious +that Phil had bought supper out of his earnings. + +“Why did you give your bread to Giuseppe?” he demanded. + +“Because I was not hungry,” answered Phil. + +“Why were you not hungry? Did you buy some supper?” + +“No, signore.” + +“Then you should be hungry.” + +“A kind lady gave me some supper.” + +“How did it happen?” + +“I knew her son. His name is Paolo. He asked me to go home with him. +Then he gave me a good supper.” + +“How long were you there? You might have been playing and brought me +some more money,” said the padrone, who, with characteristic meanness, +grudged the young fiddler time to eat the meal that cost him nothing. + +“It was not long, signore.” + +“You can eat what is given you, but you must not waste too much time.” + +A boy entered next, who showed by his hesitating manner that he did +not anticipate a good reception. The padrone, accustomed to judge by +appearances, instantly divined this. + +“Well, Ludovico,” he said, sharply, “what do you bring me?” + +“Pardon, padrone,” said Ludovico, producing a small sum of money. + +“I could not help it.” + +“Seventy-five cents,” repeated the padrone, indignantly. “You have been +idle, you little wretch!” + +“No, padrone. Indeed, I did my best. The people would not give me +money.” + +“Where did you go?” + +“I was in Brooklyn.” + +“You have spent some of the money.” + +“No, padrone.” + +“You have been idle, then. No supper to-night. Pietro, my stick!” + +Pietro was one of the older boys. He was ugly physically, and his +disposition corresponded with his appearance. He could have few good +traits, or he would not have possessed the confidence of the padrone. +He was an efficient assistant of the latter, and co-operated with him in +oppressing the other boys. Indeed, he was a nephew of the padrone’s, +and for this reason, as well as his similarity of disposition, he was +treated with unusual indulgence. Whenever the padrone felt suspicious +of any of the boys, he usually sent them out in company with Pietro, who +acted as a spy, faithfully reporting all that happened to his principal. + +Pietro responded with alacrity to the command of the padrone, and +produced a stout stick, which he handed to his uncle. + +“Now strip off your jacket,” said the padrone, harshly. + +“Spare me, padrone! Do not beat me! It was not my fault,” said the +unhappy Ludovico, imploringly. + +“Take off your jacket!” repeated the padrone, pitilessly. + +One look of that hard face might have taught Ludovico, even if he had +not witnessed the punishment so often inflicted on other boys, that +there was no hope for him. + +“Help him, Pietro,” said the padrone. + +Pietro seized Ludovico’s jacket, and pulled it off roughly. Then he drew +off the ragged shirt which the boy wore underneath, and his bare back +was exposed to view. + +“Hold him, Pietro!” + +In Pietro’s firm grasp, the boy was unable to stir. The padrone whirled +the stick aloft, and brought it down upon the naked flesh, leaving +behind a fearful wheal. + +Ludovico shrieked aloud, and again implored mercy, but in vain, for the +stick descended again and again. + +Meanwhile the other boys looked on, helpless to interfere. The more +selfish were glad that they had escaped, though not at all sure but it +would be their turn next evening. There were others who felt a passive +sympathy for their unlucky comrade. Others were filled with indignation +at the padrone, knowing how cruel and unjust were his exactions. Among +these was Phil. Possessed of a warm and sympathetic heart, he never +witnessed these cruel punishments without feeling that he would like to +see the padrone suffering such pain as he inflicted upon others. + +“If I were only a man,” he often thought, “I would wrench the stick from +his hand, and give him a chance to feel it.” + +But he knew too well the danger of permitting his real sentiments to be +reflected in his face. It would only bring upon him a share of the same +punishment, without benefiting those who were unfortunate enough to +receive it. + +When Ludovico’s punishment was ended, he was permitted to go to bed, +but without his supper. Nor was his the only case. Five other boys were +subjected to the same punishment. The stick had no want of exercise +on that evening. Here were nearly forty boys, subjected to excessive +fatigue, privation, and brutal treatment daily, on account of the greed +of one man. The hours that should been given in part to instruction, and +partly to such recreation as the youthful heart craves, were devoted to +a pursuit that did nothing to prepare them for the duties of life. And +this white slavery--for it merits no better name--is permitted by the +law of two great nations. Italy is in fault in suffering this traffic +in her children of tender years, and America is guilty as well in not +interfering, as she might, at all events, to abridge the long hours of +labor required of these boys, and forcing their cruel guardians to give +them some instruction. + +One by one the boys straggled in. By midnight all had returned, and the +boys were permitted to retire to their beds, which were poor enough. +This, however, was the least of their troubles. Sound are the slumbers +of young however hard the couch on which it rests, especially when, as +with all the young Italian boys, the day has been one of fatigue. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +A COLD DAY + +The events thus far recorded in the life of our young hero took place +on a day toward the middle of October, when the temperature was +sufficiently mild to produce no particular discomfort in those exposed +to it. We advance our story two months, and behold Phil setting out for +his day’s wandering on a morning in December, when the keen blasts swept +through the streets, sending a shiver through the frames even of those +who were well protected. How much more, then, must it be felt by the +young street musician, who, with the exception of a woolen tippet, wore +nothing more or warmer than in the warmer months! Yet, Phil, with his +natural vigorous frame, was better able to bear the rigor of the winter +weather than some of his comrades, as Giacomo, to whom the long hours +spent in the streets were laden with suffering and misery. + +The two boys went about together when they dared to do so, though the +padrone objected, but for what reason it did not seem manifest, unless +because he suspected that two would plan something prejudicial to his +interests. Phil, who was generally more successful than Giacomo, often +made up his smaller comrade’s deficiencies by giving him a portion of +his own gains. + +It was a raw day. Only those who felt absolutely obliged to be out were +to be seen in the streets; but among these were our two little fiddlers. +Whatever might be the weather, they were compelled to expose themselves +to its severity. However the boys might suffer, they must bring home +the usual amount. But at eleven o’clock the prospects seemed rather +discouraging. They had but twenty-five cents between them, nor would +anyone stop to listen to their playing. + +“I wish it were night, Filippo,” said Giacomo, shivering with cold. + +“So do I, Giacomo. Are you very cold?” + +“Yes,” said the little boy, his teeth chattering. “I wish I were back in +Italy. It is never so cold there.” + +“No, Giacomo; you are right. But I would not mind the cold so much, if +I had a warm overcoat like that boy,” pointing out a boy clad in a thick +overcoat, and a fur cap drawn over his ears, while his hands were snugly +incased in warm gloves. + +He, too, looked at the two fiddlers, and he could not help noticing how +cold they looked. + +“Look here, you little chaps, are you cold? You look as if you had just +come from Greenland.” + +“Yes,” said Phil. “We are cold.” + +“Your hands look red enough. Here is an old pair of gloves for one of +you. I wish I had another pair. They are not very thick, but they are +better than none.” + +He drew a pair of worsted gloves from his pocket, and handed them to +Phil. + +“Thank you,” said Phil; but having received them, he gave them to +Giacomo. + +“You are colder than I am, Giacomo,” he said. “Take them.” + +“But you are cold, too, Filippo.” + +“I will put my hands in my pockets. Don’t mind me.” + +Of course this conversation took place in Italian; for, though Phil had +learned considerable English, Giacomo understood but a few words of it. + +The gloves afforded some protection, but still both boys were very cold. +They were in Brooklyn, having crossed the ferry in the morning. They had +wandered to a part not closely built up, where they were less sheltered, +and experienced greater discomfort. + +“Can’t we go in somewhere and get warm? pleaded Giacomo. + +“Here is a grocery store. We will go in there.” + +Phil opened the door and entered. The shopkeeper, a peevish-looking man, +with lightish hair, stood behind the counter weighing out a pound of tea +for a customer. + +“What do you want here, you little vagabonds?” he exclaimed, harshly, as +he saw the two boys enter. + +“We are cold,” said Phil. “May we stand by your stove and get warm?” + +“Do you think I provide a fire for all the vagabonds in the city?” said +the grocer, with a brutal disregard of their evident suffering. + +Phil hesitated, not knowing whether he was ordered out or not. + +“Clear out of my store, I say!” said the grocer, harshly. “I don’t want +you in here. Do you understand?” + +At this moment a gentleman of prepossessing appearance entered the +store. He heard the grocer’s last words, and their inhumanity made him +indignant. + +“What do these boys want, Mr. Perkins?” he said. + +“They want to spend their time in my shop. I have no room for such +vagabonds.” + +“We are cold,” said Phil. “We only want to warm ourselves by the fire.” + +“I don’t want you here,” said the grocer, irritably. + +“Mr. Perkins,” said the gentleman, sharply, “have you no humanity? What +harm can it do you to let these poor boys get warm by your fire? It will +cost you nothing; it will not diminish your personal comfort; yet you +drive them out into the cold.” + +The grocer began to perceive that he was on the wrong tack. The +gentleman who addressed him was a regular and profitable customer, and +he did not like to incur his ill will, which would entail loss. + +“They can stay, Mr. Pomeroy,” he said, with an ill grace, “since you ask +it.” + +“I do not ask it. I will not accept, as a personal favor, what you +should have granted from a motive of humanity, more especially as, after +this exhibition of your spirit, I shall not trade here any longer.” + +By this time the grocer perceived that he had made a mistake. + +“I hope you will reconsider that, Mr. Pomeroy,” he said, abjectly. “The +fact is, I had no objections to the boys warming themselves, but they +are mostly thieves, and I could not keep my eyes on them all the time.” + +“I think you are mistaken. They don’t look like thieves. Did you ever +have anything stolen by one of this class of boys?” + +“Not that I know of,” said the grocer, hesitatingly; “but it is likely +they would steal if they got a chance.” + +“We have no right to say that of anyone without good cause.” + +“We never steal,” said Phil, indignantly; for he understood what was +said. + +“Of course he says so,” sneered the grocer. “Come and warm yourselves, +if you want to.” + +The boys accepted this grudging invitation, and drew near the stove. +They spread out their hands, and returning warmth proved very grateful +to them. + +“Have you been out long?” asked the gentleman who had interceded in +their behalf, also drawing near the stove. + +“Since eight, signore.” + +“Do you live in Brooklyn?” + +“No; in New York.” + +“And do you go out every day?” + +“Si, signore.” + +“How long since you came from Italy?” + +“A year.” + +“Would you like to go back?” + +“He would,” said Phil, pointing to his companion. “I would like to stay +here, if I had a good home.” + +“What kind of a home have you? With whom do you live?” + +“With the padrone.” + +“I suppose that means your guardian?” + +“Yes, sir,” answered Phil. + +“Is he kind to you?” + +“He beats us if we do not bring home enough money.” + +“Your lot is a hard one. What makes you stay with him? Don’t the boys +ever run away?” + +“Sometimes.” + +“What does the padrone do in that case?” + +“He tries to find them.” + +“And if he does--what then?” + +“He beats them for a long time.” + +“Evidently your padrone is a brute. Why don’t you complain to the +police?” + +Phil shrugged his shoulders, and did not answer. He evidently thought +the suggestion an impracticable one. These boys are wont to regard the +padrone as above all law. His power seems to them absolute, and they +never dream of any interference. And, indeed, there is some reason for +their cherishing this opinion. However brutal his treatment, I know of +no case where the law has stepped in to rescue the young victim. This +is partly, no doubt, because the boys, few of whom can speak the +English language, do not know their rights, and seldom complain to +outsiders--never to the authorities. Probably, in some cases, the +treatment is less brutal than I have depicted; but from the best +information I can obtain from trustworthy sources, I fear that the +reality, if anything, exceeds the picture I have drawn. + +“I think I should enjoy giving your padrone a horsewhipping,” said the +gentleman, impetuously. “Can such things be permitted in the nineteenth +century?” + +“I have no doubt the little rascals deserve all they get,” said the +grocer, who would probably have found in the Italian padrone a congenial +spirit. + +Mr. Pomeroy deigned no reply to this remark. + +“Well, boys,” he said, consulting his watch, “I must leave you. Here are +twenty-five cents for each of you. I have one piece of advice for you. +If your padrone beats you badly, run away from him. I would if I were in +your place.” + +“Addio, signore,” said the two boys. + +“I suppose that means ‘good-by.’ Well, good-by, and better luck.” + + + +CHAPTER IX + +PIETRO THE SPY + +Though from motives of policy the grocer had permitted the boys to warm +themselves by his fire, he felt only the more incensed against them on +this account, and when Mr. Pomeroy had gone determined to get rid of +them. + +“Haven’t you got warm yet?” he asked. “I can’t have you in my way all +day.” + +“We will go,” said Phil. “Come, Giacomo.” + +He did not thank the grocer, knowing how grudgingly permission had been +given. + +So they went out again into the chill air, but they had got thoroughly +warmed, and were better able to bear it. + +“Where shall we go, Filippo?” asked the younger boy. + +“We will go back to New York. It is not so cold there.” + +Giacomo unhesitatingly assented to whatever Phil proposed. He was not +self-reliant, like our hero, but always liked to have someone to lean +upon. + +They made their way back to Fulton Ferry in a leisurely manner, stopping +here and there to play; but it was a bad day for business. The cold was +such that no one stopped to give them anything, except that one young +man dropped ten cents in Phil’s hand as he hurried by, on his way home. + +At length they reached the ferry. The passengers were not so many +in number as usual. The cabin was so warm and comfortable that they +remained on board for two or three trips, playing each time. In this way +they obtained about thirty cents more. They would have remained longer, +but that one of the deck hands asked, “How many times are you going +across for two cents?” and this made them think it prudent to go. + +When six o’clock came Giacomo asked Phil, who acted as treasurer, how +much money they had. + +“Two dollars,” answered Phil. + +“That is only one dollar for each.” + +“Yes, Giacomo.” + +“Then we shall be beaten,” said the little boy, with a sigh. + +“I am afraid so.” + +“And get no supper.” + +“Yes,” said Phil; “unless,” he added, “we get some supper now.” + +“With this money?” asked Giacomo, startled at the boldness of the +suggestion. + +“Yes; we shall be beaten at any rate. It will be no worse for us if we +get some supper.” + +“Will you buy some bread?” + +“No,” said Phil, daringly. “I am going to buy some meat.” + +“What will the padrone say?” + +“I shall not tell the padrone.” + +“Do you think he will find out?” + +“No. Besides, we ought to have some supper after walking about all day.” + +Evidently Phil had begun to think, and the essential injustice of +laboring without proper compensation had impressed his youthful mind. +Giacomo was more timid. He had not advanced as far as Phil, nor was he +as daring. But I have already said that he was guided in a great measure +by Phil, and so it proved in this case. + +Phil, having made up his mind, set about carrying his plan into +execution. Only a block distant was a cheap restaurant, where plates of +meat were supplied to a poor class of customers at ten cents per plate. + +“Let us go in here,” he said. + +Giacomo followed, but not without trepidation. He knew that what they +were about to do would be a heinous crime in the eyes of the padrone. +Even Phil had never ventured upon such direct rebellion before. But Mr. +Pomeroy’s suggestion that he should run away was beginning to bear fruit +in his mind. He had not come to that yet, but he might. Why should he +not earn money for his own benefit, as well as for the padrone? True, he +was bound to the latter by a legal contract entered into by his father, +but Phil, without knowing much about law, had an indistinct idea that +the contract was a one-sided one, and was wholly for the advantage of +the other party. The tyrant is always in danger of losing his hold upon +the victim when the latter begins to think. + +They entered the restaurant, and sat down at a table. + +The tables were greasy. The floor was strewed with sawdust. The waiters +were dirty, and the entire establishment was neither neat nor inviting. +But it was democratic. No customers were sent away because they were +unfashionably attired. The only requisite was money enough to defray +their bills. Nevertheless Giacomo felt a little in awe even of the dirty +waiters. His frugal meals were usually bought at the baker’s shop, and +eaten standing in the street. Sitting down at a table, even though it +was greasy, seemed a degree of luxury to which he was not entitled. But +Phil more easily adapted himself to circumstances. He knew that he had +as much right there as any other customer. + +Presently a waiter presented himself. + +“Have you ordered?” he asked. + +“Give me some roast beef,” said Phil. “What will you have, Giacomo?” + +“The same as you, Filippo,” said Giacomo, in Italian. + +“What’s that?” asked the waiter, thinking he had named some dish. + +“He will have some roast beef, too. Will you have some coffee, Giacomo?” + +“If you have it,” answered the smaller boy. + +So Phil gave the double order, and very soon the coffee and meat were +placed before them. I suspect that few of my readers would have regarded +these articles with any relish. One need not be fastidious to find fault +with the dark-hued beverage, which was only a poor imitation of coffee, +and the dark fragments of meat, which might have been horseflesh so far +as appearance went. But to the two Italian boys it was indeed a feast. +The coffee, which was hot, warmed their stomachs, and seemed to them +like nectar, while the meat was as palatable as the epicure finds his +choicest dishes. While eating, even Giacomo forgot that he was +engaged in something unlawful, and his face was lighted up with rare +satisfaction. + +“It is good,” said Phil, briefly, as he laid down his knife and fork, +after disposing of the last morsel upon his plate. + +“I wish I could have such a supper every day,” said Giacomo. + +“I will when I am a man,” said Phil. + +“I don’t think I shall ever be a man,” said Giacomo, shaking his head. + +“Why not?” asked Phil, regarding him with surprise. + +“I do not think I shall live.” + +“What makes you think so, Giacomo?” said Phil, startled. + +“I am not strong, Filippo,” said the little boy, “I think I get weaker +every day. I long so much to go back to Italy. If I could see my mother +once more, I would be willing to die then.” + +“You must not think of such things, Giacomo,” said Phil, who, like most +healthy boys, did not like to think of death. “You will get strong when +summer comes. The weather is bad now, of course.” + +“I don’t think I shall, Filippo. Do you remember Matteo?” + +“Yes, I remember him.” + +Matteo was a comrade who had died six months before. He was a young boy, +about the size and age of Giacomo. + +“I dreamed of him last night, Filippo. He held out his hand to me.” + +“Well?” + +“I think I am going to die, like him.” + +“Don’t be foolish, Giacomo,” said Phil. But, though he said this, even +he was startled by what Giacomo had told him. He was ignorant, and the +ignorant are prone to superstition; so he felt uncomfortable, but did +not like to acknowledge it. + +“You must not think of this, Giacomo,” he said. “You will be an old man +some day.” + +“That’s for you, Filippo. It isn’t for me,” said the little boy. + +“Come, let us go,” said Phil, desirous of dropping the subject. + +He went up to the desk, and paid for both, the sum of thirty cents. + +“Now, come,” he said. + +Giacomo followed him out, and they turned down the street, feeling +refreshed by the supper they had eaten. But unfortunately they had been +observed. As they left the restaurant, they attracted the attention +of Pietro, whom chance had brought thither at an unfortunate time. His +sinister face lighted up with joy as he realized the discovery he had +made. But he wished to make sure that it was as he supposed. They might +have gone in only to play and sing. + +He crossed the street, unobserved by Phil and Giacomo, and entered the +restaurant. + +“Were my two brothers here?” he asked, assuming relationship. + +“Two boys with fiddles?” + +“Yes; they just went out.” + +“Did they get supper?” + +“Yes; they had some roast beef and coffee.” + +“Thank you,” said Pietro, and he left the restaurant with his suspicions +confirmed. + +“I shall tell the padrone,” he said to himself. + +“They will feel the stick to-night.” + + + +CHAPTER X + +FRENCH’S HOTEL + +Pietro had one of those mean and malignant natures that are best pleased +when they are instrumental in bringing others into trouble. He looked +forward to becoming a padrone himself some time, and seemed admirably +fitted by nature to exercise the inhuman office. He lost no time, on his +return, in making known to his uncle what he had learned. + +For the boys to appropriate to their own use money which had been +received for their services was, in the eyes of the padrone, a crime of +the darkest shade. In fact, if the example were generally followed, it +would have made a large diminution of his income, though the boys might +have been benefited. He listened to Pietro with an ominous scowl, and +decided to inflict condign punishment upon the young offenders. + +Meanwhile Phil and Giacomo resumed their wanderings. They no longer +hoped to make up the large difference between what they had and the sum +they were expected by the padrone to bring. As the evening advanced the +cold increased, and penetrated through their thin clothing, chilling +them through and through. Giacomo felt it the most. By and by he began +to sob with the cold and fatigue. + +“What is the matter, Giacomo?” asked Phil, anxiously. + +“I feel so cold, Filippo--so cold and tired. I wish I could rest.” + +The boys were in Printing House Square, near the spot where now stands +the Franklin statue. + +“If you want to rest, Giacomo,” said Phil, pityingly, “we will go into +French’s Hotel a little while.” + +“I should like to.” + +They entered the hotel and sat down near the heater. The grateful warmth +diffused itself through their frames, and Giacomo sank back in his seat +with a sigh of relief. + +“Do you feel better, Giacomo?” asked his comrade. + +“Yes, Filippo; I wish I could stay here till it is time to go home.” + +“We will, then. We shall get no more money outside.” + +“The padrone----” + +“Will beat us at any rate. It will be no worse for us. Besides they may +possibly ask us to play here.” + +“I can play no more to-night, Filippo, I am so tired.” + +Phil knew very little of sickness, or he might have seen that Giacomo +was going to be ill. Exposure, fatigue, and privation had been too much +for his strength. He had never been robust, and he had been subjected to +trials that would have proved hard for one much stronger to bear. + +When he had once determined to remain in the comfortable hotel, Phil +leaned back in his chair also, and decided to enjoy all the comfort +attainable. What though there was a beating in prospect? + +He had before him two or three hours of rest and relief from the outside +cold. He was something of a philosopher, and chose not to let future +evil interfere with present good. + +Near the two boys sat two young men--merchants from the interior of New +York State, who were making a business visit to the metropolis. + +“Well, Gardner,” said the first, “where shall we go to-night?” + +“Why need we go anywhere?” + +“I thought you might like to go to some place of amusement.” + +“So I would if the weather were less inclement. The most comfortable +place is by the fire.” + +“You are right as to that, but the evening will be long and stupid.” + +“Oh, we can worry it through. Here, for instance, are two young +musicians,” indicating the little fiddlers. “Suppose we get a tune out +of them?” + +“Agreed. Here, boy, can you play on that fiddle?” + +“Yes,” said Phil. + +“Well, give us a tune, then. Is that your brother?” + +“No, he is my comrade.” + +“He can play, too.” + +“Will you play, Giacomo?” + +The younger boy roused himself. The two stood up, and played two or +three tunes successfully. A group of loungers gathered around them and +listened approvingly. When they had finished Phil took off his hat and +went the rounds. Some gave, the two first mentioned contributing most +liberally. The whole sum collected was about fifty cents. + +Phil and Giacomo now resumed their seats. They felt now that they were +entitled to rest for the remainder of the evening, since they had gained +quite as much as they would have been likely to earn in wandering about +the streets. The group that had gathered about them dispersed, and they +ceased to be objects of attention. Fatigue and the warmth of the room +gradually affected Giacomo until he leaned back and fell asleep. + +“I won’t take him till it’s time to go back,” thought Phil. + +So Giacomo slept on, despite the noises in the street outside and the +confusion incident to every large hotel. As he sat asleep, he attracted +the attention of a stout gentleman who was passing, leading by the hand +a boy of ten. + +“Is that your brother?” he asked in a low tone of Phil. + +“No, signore; it is my comrade.” + +“So you go about together?” + +“Yes, sir,” answered Phil, bethinking himself to use English instead of +Italian. + +“He seems tired.” + +“Yes; he is not so strong as I am.” + +“Do you play about the streets all day?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“How would you like that, Henry?” asked his father to the boy at his +side. + +“I should like to play about the streets all day,” said Henry, +roguishly, misinterpreting the word “play.” + +“I think you would get tired of it. What is your name, my boy?” + +“Filippo.” + +“And what is the name of your friend?” + +“Giacomo.” + +“Did you never go to school?” + +Phil shook his head. + +“Would you like to go?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“You would like it better than wandering about the streets all day?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Why do you not ask your father to send you to school?” + +“My father is in Italy.” + +“And his father, also?” + +“Si, signore,” answered Phil, relapsing into Italian. + +“What do you think of that, Henry?” asked the gentleman. “How should +you like to leave me, and go to some Italian city to roam about all day, +playing on the violin?” + +“I think I would rather go to school.” + +“I think you would.” + +“Are you often out so late, Filippo? I think that is the name you gave +me.” + +Phil shrugged his shoulders + +“Always,” he answered. + +“At what time do you go home?” + +“At eleven.” + +“It is too late for a boy of your age to sit up. Why do you not go home +sooner?” + +“The padrone would beat me.” + +“Who is the padrone?” + +“The man who brought me from Italy to America.” + +“Poor boys!” said the gentleman, compassionately. “Yours is a hard life. +I hope some time you will be in a better position.” + +Phil fixed his dark eyes upon the stranger, grateful for his words of +sympathy. + +“Thank you,” he said. + +“Good-night,” said the stranger, kindly. + +“Good-night, signore.” + +An hour passed. The City Hall clock near by struck eleven. The time had +come for returning to their mercenary guardian. Phil shook the sleeping +form of Giacomo. The little boy stirred in his sleep, and murmured, +“Madre.” He had been dreaming of his mother and his far-off Italian +home. He woke to the harsh realities of life, four thousand miles away +from that mother and home. + +“Have I slept, Filippo?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, and looking about +him in momentary bewilderment. + +“Yes, Giacomo. You have slept for two hours and more. It is eleven +o’clock.” + +“Then we must go back.” + +“Yes; take your violin, and we will go.” + +They passed out into the cold street, which seemed yet colder by +contrast with the warm hotel they just left, and, crossing to the +sidewalk that skirts the park, walked up Centre street. + +Giacomo was seized with a fit of trembling. His teeth chattered with +the cold. A fever was approaching, although neither he nor his companion +knew it. + +“Are you cold, Giacomo?” asked Phil, noticing how he trembled. + +“I am very cold. I feel sick, Filippo.” + +“You will feel better to-morrow,” said Phil; but the thought of the +beating which his little comrade was sure to receive saddened him more +than the prospect of being treated in the same way himself. + +They kept on their way, past the Tombs with its gloomy entrance, through +the ill-lighted street, scarcely noticed by the policeman whom they +passed--for he was accustomed to see boys of their class out late at +night--until at last they reached the dwelling of the padrone, who was +waiting their arrival with the eagerness of a brutal nature, impatient +to inflict pain. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE BOYS RECEPTION + +Phil and Giacomo entered the lodging-house, wholly unconscious of the +threatening storm, The padrone scowled at them as they entered but that +was nothing unusual. Had he greeted them kindly, they would have had +reason to be surprised. + +“Well,” he said, harshly, “how much do you bring?” + +The boys produced two dollars and a half which he pocketed. + +“Is this all?” he asked. + +“It was cold,” said Phil, “and we could not get more.” + +The padrone listened with an ominous frown. + +“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want your supper?” + +Phil was puzzled by his manner, for he expected to be deprived of his +supper on account of bringing less money than usual. Why should the +padrone ask him if he wanted his supper? Though he was not hungry, he +thought it best to answer in the affirmative. + +“What would you like?” asked the padrone. + +Again Phil was puzzled, for the suppers supplied by the padrone never +varied, always consisting of bread and cheese. + +“Perhaps,” continued the padrone, meeting no answer, “you would like to +have coffee and roast beef.” + +All was clear now. Phil understood that he had been seen going in or out +of the restaurant, though he could not tell by whom. He knew well enough +what to expect, but a chivalrous feeling of friendship led him to try to +shield his young companion, even at the risk of a more severe punishment +to be inflicted upon himself. + +“It was my fault,” he said, manfully. “Giacomo would not have gone in +but for me.” + +“Wicked, ungrateful boy!” exclaimed the padrone, wrathfully. “It was my +money that you spent. You are a thief!” + +Phil felt that this was a hard word, which he did not deserve. The money +was earned by himself, though claimed by the padrone. But he did not +venture to say this. It would have been revolutionary. He thought it +prudent to be silent. + +“Why do you say nothing?” exclaimed the padrone, stamping his foot. “Why +did you spend my money?” + +“I was hungry.” + +“So you must live like a nobleman! Our supper is not good enough for +you. How much did you spend?” + +“Thirty cents.” + +“For each?” + +“No, signore, for both.” + +“Then you shall have each fifteen blows, one for each penny. I will +teach you to be a thief. Pietro, the stick! Now, strip!” + +“Padrone,” said Phil, generously, “let me have all the blows. It was my +fault; Giacomo only went because I asked him.” + +If the padrone had had a heart, this generous request would have touched +it; but he was not troubled in that way. + +“He must be whipped, too,” he said. “He should not have gone with you.” + +“He is sick, padrone,” persisted Phil. “Excuse him till he is better.” + +“Not a word more,” roared the padrone, irritated at his persistence. +“If he is sick, it is because he has eaten too much,” he added, with a +sneer. “Pietro, my stick!” + +The two boys began to strip mechanically, knowing that there was no +appeal. Phil stood bare to the waist. The padrone seized the stick and +began to belabor him. Phil’s brown face showed by its contortions the +pain he suffered, but he was too proud to cry out. When the punishment +was finished his back was streaked with red, and looked maimed and +bruised. + +“Put on your shirt!” commanded the tyrant. + +Phil drew it on over his bleeding back and resumed his place among his +comrades. + +“Now!” said the padrone, beckoning to Giacomo. + +The little boy approached shivering, not so much with cold as with the +fever that had already begun to prey upon him. + +Phil turned pale and sick as he looked at the padrone preparing to +inflict punishment. He would gladly have left the room, but he knew that +it would not be permitted. + +The first blow descended heavily upon the shrinking form of the little +victim. It was followed by a shriek of pain and terror. + +“What are you howling at?” muttered the padrone, between his teeth. “I +will whip you the harder.” + +Giacomo would have been less able to bear the cruel punishment than Phil +if he had been well, but being sick, it was all the more terrible to +him. The second blow likewise was followed by a shriek of anguish. Phil +looked on with pale face, set teeth, and blazing eyes, as he saw the +barbarous punishment of his comrade. He felt that he hated the padrone +with a fierce hatred. Had his strength been equal to the attempt, he +would have flung himself upon the padrone. As it was, he looked at his +comrades, half wishing that they would combine with him against their +joint oppressor. But there was no hope of that. Some congratulated +themselves that they were not in Giacomo’s place; others looked upon his +punishment as a matter of course. There was no dream of interference, +save in the mind of Phil. + +The punishment continued amid the groans and prayers for mercy of the +little sufferer. But at the eighth stroke his pain and terror reached +a climax, and nature succumbed. He sank on the floor, fainting. The +padrone thought at first it was a pretense, and was about to repeat +the strokes, when a look at the pallid, colorless face of the little +sufferer alarmed him. It did not excite his compassion, but kindled +the fear that the boy might be dying, in which case the police might +interfere and give him trouble; therefore he desisted, but unwillingly. + +“He is sick,” said Phil, starting forward. + +“He is no more sick than I am,” scowled the padrone. “Pietro, some +water!” + +Pietro brought a glass of water, which the padrone threw in the face of +the fallen boy. The shock brought him partially to. He opened his eyes, +and looked around vacantly. + +“What is the matter with you?” demanded the padrone, harshly. + +“Where am I?” asked Giacomo, bewildered. But, as he asked this question, +his eyes met the dark look of his tyrant, and he clasped his hands in +terror. + +“Do not beat me!” he pleaded. “I feel sick.” + +“He is only shamming,” said Pietro, who was worthy to be the servant and +nephew of such a master. But the padrone thought it would not be prudent +to continue the punishment. + +“Help him put on his clothes, Pietro,” he said. “I will let you off this +time, little rascal, but take heed that you never again steal a single +cent of my money.” + +Giacomo was allowed to seek his uncomfortable bed. His back was so sore +with the beating he had received that he was compelled to lie on his +side. During the night the feverish symptoms increased, and before +morning he was very sick. The padrone was forced to take some measures +for his recovery, not from motives of humanity, but because Giacomo’s +death would cut off a source of daily revenue, and this, in the eyes of +the mercenary padrone, was an important consideration. + +Phil went to bed in silence. Though he was suffering from the brutal +blows he had received, the thought of the punishment and suffering of +Giacomo affected him more deeply than his own. As I have said, the two +boys came from the same town in southern Italy. They had known each +other almost from infancy, and something of a fraternal feeling had +grown up between them. In Phil’s case, since he was the stronger, it was +accompanied by the feeling that he should be a protector to the younger +boy, who, on his side, looked up to Phil as stronger and wiser than +himself. Though only a boy of twelve, what had happened led Phil to +think seriously of his position and prospects. He did not know for how +long his services had been sold to the padrone by his father, but he +felt sure that the letter of the contract would be little regarded as +long as his services were found profitable. + +What hope, then, had he of better treatment in the future? There seemed +no prospect except of continued oppression and long days of hardship, +unless--and here the suggestion of Mr. Pomeroy occurred to him--unless +he ran away. He had known of boys doing this before. Some had been +brought back, and, of course, were punished severely for their temerity, +but others had escaped, and had never returned. What had become of them +Phil did not know, but he rightly concluded that they could not be any +worse off than in the service of the padrone. Thinking of all this, Phil +began to think it probable that he, too, would some day break his bonds +and run away. He did not fix upon any time. He had not got as far as +this. But circumstances, as we shall find in our next chapter, hastened +his determination, and this, though he knew it not, was the last night +he would sleep in the house of the padrone. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +GIACOMO’S PRESENTIMENTS + +Phil woke up the next morning feeling lame and sore. His back bore +traces of the flogging he had received the night before. As his eyes +opened, they rested upon twenty boys lying about him, and also upon the +dark, unsightly walls of the shabby room, and the prospect before him +served to depress even his hopeful temperament. But he was not permitted +to meditate long. Pietro opened the door, and called out in harsh tones: +“Get up, all of you, or the padrone will be here with his stick!” + +The invitation was heard and obeyed. The boys got up, yawning and +rubbing their eyes, having a wholesome dread of their tyrant and his +stick, which no tenderness of heart ever made him reluctant to use. +Their toilet did not require long to make. The padrone was quite +indifferent whether they were clean or not, and offered them no +facilities for washing. + +When they were dressed they were supplied with a frugal breakfast--a +piece of bread and cheese each; their instruments were given them, and +they were started off for a long day of toil. + +Phil looked around for Giacomo, who had slept in a different room, but +he was not to be seen. + +“Is Giacomo sick this morning, Pietro?” he asked of the padrone’s +nephew. + +“He pretends to be sick, little drone!” said Pietro, unfeelingly. “If I +were the padrone, I would let him taste the stick again.” + +Phil felt that he would like to see the brutal speaker suffering the +punishment he wanted inflicted on him; but he knew Pietro’s power and +malice too well to give utterance to the wish. A longing came to him to +see Giacomo before he went out. He might have had a secret presentiment +of what was coming. + +“Signor Pietro,” he said, “may I see Giacomo before I go out?” + +This request would have been refused without doubt, but that Pietro felt +flattered at being addressed as signor, to which his years did not yet +entitle him. Phil knew this, and therefore used the title. + +“What do you want to see him for?” he asked, suspiciously. + +“I want to ask him how he feels.” + +“Yes, you can go in. Tell him he must get up to-morrow. The padrone will +not let him spend his time in idleness.” + +So Phil, having already his fiddle under his arm, entered the room where +Giacomo lay. The other occupants of the room had risen, and the little +boy was lying on a hard pallet in the corner. His eyes lighted up with +joy as he saw Phil enter. + +“I am glad it is you, Filippo,” he said; “I thought it was the padrone, +come to make me get up.” + +“How do you feel this morning, Giacomo?” + +“I do not feel well, Filippo. My back is sore, and I am so weak.” + +His eyes were very bright with the fever that had now control, and his +cheeks were hot and flushed. Phil put his hand upon them. + +“Your cheeks are very hot, Giacomo,” he said. “You are going to be +sick.” + +“I know it, Filippo,” said the little boy. “I may be very sick.” + +“I hope not, Giacomo.” + +“Lean over, Filippo,” said Giacomo. “I want to tell you something.” + +Phil leaned over until his ear was close to the mouth of his little +comrade. + +“I think I am going to die, Filippo,” whispered Giacomo. + +Phil started in dismay. + +“No, no, Giacomo,” he said; “that is nonsense. You will live a great +many years.” + +“I think you will, Filippo. You are strong. But I have always been weak, +and lately I am tired all the time. I don’t care to live--very much. It +is hard to live;” and the little boy sighed as he spoke. + +“You are too young to die, Giacomo. It is only because you are sick that +you think of it. You will soon be better.” + +“I do not think so, Filippo. I should like to live for one thing.” + +“What is that?” asked Phil, gazing with strange wonder at the patient, +sad face of the little sufferer, who seemed so ready to part with the +life which, in spite of his privations and hardships, seemed so bright +to him. + +“I should like to go back to my home in Italy, and see my mother again +before I die. She loved me.” + +The almost unconscious emphasis which he laid on the word “she” showed +that in his own mind he was comparing her with his father, who had sold +him into such cruel slavery. + +“If you live, Giacomo, you will go back and see her some day.” + +“I shall never see her again, Filippo,” said the little boy, sadly. “If +you ever go back to Italy--when you are older--will you go and see her, +and tell her that--that I thought of her when I was sick, and wanted to +see her?” + +“Yes, Giacomo,” said Phil, affected by his little companion’s manner. + +“Filippo!” called Pietro, in harsh tones. + +“I must go,” said Phil, starting to his feet. + +“Kiss me before you go,” said Giacomo. + +Phil bent over and kissed the feverish lips of the little boy, and then +hurried out of the room. He never saw Giacomo again; and this, though he +knew it not, was his last farewell to his little comrade. + +So Phil commenced his wanderings. He was free in one way--he could go +where he pleased. The padrone did not care where he picked up his money, +as long as he brought home a satisfactory amount. Phil turned to go up +town, though he had no definite destination in view. He missed Giacomo, +who lately had wandered about in his company, and felt lonely without +him. + +“Poor Giacomo!” he thought. “I hope he will be well soon.” + +“Avast there, boy!” someone called. “Just come to anchor, and give us a +tune.” + +Phil looked up and saw two sailors bearing down upon him (to use a +nautical phrase) with arms locked, and evidently with more liquor aboard +than they could carry steadily. + +“Give us a tune, boy, and we’ll pay you,” said the second. + +Phil had met such customers before, and knew what would please them. He +began playing some lively dancing tunes, with so much effect that the +sailors essayed to dance on the sidewalk, much to the amusement of a +group of boys who collected around them. + +“Go it, bluejacket! Go it, boots!” exclaimed the boys, designating them +by certain prominent articles of dress. + +The applause appeared to stimulate them to further efforts, and they +danced and jumped high in air, to the hilarious delight of their +juvenile spectators. After a time such a crowd collected that the +attention of a passing policeman was attracted. + +“What’s all this disturbance?” he demanded, in tones of authority. + +“We’re stretching our legs a little, shipmate,” said the first sailor. + +“Then you’d better stretch them somewhere else than in the street.” + +“I thought this was a free country,” hiccoughed the second. + +“You’ll find it isn’t if I get hold of you,” said the officer. + +“Want to fight?” demanded the second sailor, belligerently. + +“Boy, stop playing,” said the policeman. “I don’t want to arrest these +men unless I am obliged to do it.” + +Phil stopped playing, and this put a stop to the dance. Finding there +was no more to be seen, the crowd also dispersed. With arms again +interlocked, the sailors were about to resume their walk, forgetting to +“pay the piper.” But Phil was not at all bashful about presenting his +claims. He took off his cap, and going up to the jolly pair said, “I +want some pennies.” + +Sailors are free with their money. Parsimony is not one of their vices. +Both thrust their hands into their pockets, and each drew out a handful +of scrip, which they put into Phil’s hands, without looking to see how +much it might be. + +“That’s all right, boy, isn’t it?” inquired the first. + +“All right,” answered Phil, wondering at their munificence. He only +anticipated a few pennies, and here looked to be as much as he was +generally able to secure in a day. As soon as he got a good chance he +counted it over, and found four half dollars, three quarters, and four +tens--in all, three dollars and fifteen cents. At this rate, probably, +the sailors’ money would not last long. However this was none of Phil’s +business. It was only nine o’clock in the forenoon, and he had already +secured enough to purchase immunity from blows at night. Still there +was one thing unsatisfactory about it. All this money was to go into +the hands of the padrone. Phil himself would reap none of the benefit, +unless he bought his dinner, as he had purchased supper the evening +before. But for this he had been severely punished, though he could +not feel that he had done very wrong in spending the money he himself +earned. However, it would be at least three hours before the question of +dinner would come up. + +He put the money into the pocket of his ragged vest, and walked on. + +It was not so cold as the day before. The thermometer had risen +twenty-five degrees during the night--a great change, but not unusual in +our variable climate. Phil rather enjoyed this walk, notwithstanding his +back was a little lame. + +He walked up the Bowery to the point where Third and Fourth avenues +converge into it. He kept on the left-hand side, and walked up Fourth +Avenue, passing the Cooper Institute and the Bible House, and, a little +further on, Stewart’s magnificent marble store. On the block just above +stood a book and periodical store, kept, as the sign indicated, by +Richard Burnton. Phil paused a moment to look in at the windows, which +were filled with a variety of attractive articles. Suddenly he was +conscious of his violin being forcibly snatched from under his arm. +He turned quickly, and thought he recognized Tim Rafferty, to whom the +reader was introduced in the third chapter of this story. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +PHIL FINDS A CAPITALIST + +To account for Phil’s unexpected loss, I must explain that Tim Rafferty, +whose ordinary place of business was in or near the City Hall Park, had +been sent uptown on an errand. He was making his way back leisurely, +when, just as he was passing Burnton’s bookstore, he saw Phil looking +in at the window. He immediately recognized him as the little Italian +fiddler who had refused to lend him his fiddle, as described in a +previous chapter. In his attempt he was frustrated by Paul Hoffman. His +defeat incensed him, and he determined, if he ever met Phil again, to +“get even with him,” as he expressed it. It struck him that this was a +good opportunity to borrow his fiddle without leave. + +When Phil discovered his loss, he determined to run after the thief. + +“Give me back my fiddle!” he cried. + +But this Tim was in no hurry to do. As he had longer legs than Phil, the +chances were that he would escape. But some distance ahead he saw one of +the blue-coated guardians of the public peace, or, in newsboy parlance, +a cop, and saw that Phil could easily prove theft against him, as it +would be impossible to pass himself off as a fiddler. He must get rid of +the violin in some way, and the sooner the better. He threw it into the +middle of the street, just as a heavy cart was coming along. The wheels +of the ponderous vehicle passed over the frail instrument, crushing it +utterly. Phil ran forward to rescue his instrument, but too late. It +was spoiled beyond recovery. Phil picked up the pieces mechanically, and +took them back with him, but he soon realized that he might as well cast +them away again. Meanwhile Tim, satisfied with the mischief he had done, +and feeling revenged for his former mortification, walked up a side +street, and escaped interference. + +Phil had come to one of those crises in human experience when it is +necessary to pause and decide what to do next. The fiddle was not a +valuable one--in fact, it was a shabby little instrument--but it was +Phil’s stock in trade. Moreover, it belonged to the padrone, and however +innocent Phil might be as regarded its destruction, his tyrannical +master was sure to call him to heavy account for it. He was certain to +be severely punished, more so than the evening before, and this was +not a pleasant prospect to look forward to. The padrone was sure not to +forgive an offense like this. + +Thinking over these things, a bold suggestion came into Phil’s mind. +Why need he go back at all? Why should he not take this occasion for +breaking his fetters, and starting out into life on his own account? +There was nothing alarming in that prospect. He was not afraid but that +he could earn his own living, and fare better than he did at present, +when out of his earnings and those of his comrades the padrone was +growing rich. Other boys had run away, and though some had been brought +back, others had managed to keep out of the cruel clutches of their +despotic master. + +It did not take Phil long to come to a decision. He felt that he should +never have a better chance. He had three dollars in his pocket thanks +to the generosity of the sailors--and this would last him some time. +It would enable him to get out of the city, which would be absolutely +necessary, since, if he remained, the padrone would send Pietro for him +and get him back. + +There was only one regret he had at leaving the padrone. It would part +him from his little comrade, Giacomo. Giacomo, at least, would miss +him. He wished the little boy could have gone with him, but this, under +present circumstances, was impossible. By staying he would only incur a +severe punishment, without being able to help his comrade. + +It was still but nine o’clock. He had plenty of time before him, as +he would not be missed by the padrone until he failed to make his +appearance at night. Having no further occasion to go uptown, he +decided to turn and walk down into the business portion of the city. +He accordingly made his way leisurely to the City Hall Park, when he +suddenly bethought himself of Paul Hoffman, who had served as his friend +on a former occasion. Besides Giacomo, Paul was the only friend on whom +he could rely in the city. Paul was older and had more experience than +he, and could, no doubt, give him good advice as to his future plans. + +He crossed the Park and Broadway, and kept along on the west side of the +street until he reached the necktie stand kept by Paul. The young street +merchant did not at first see him, being occupied with a customer, to +whom he finally succeeded in selling two neckties; then looking up, he +recognized the young fiddler. + +“How are you, Phil?” he said, in a friendly manner. “Where have you kept +yourself? I have not seen you for a long time.” + +“I have been fiddling,” said Phil. + +“But I don’t see your violin now. What has become of it?” + +“It is broken--destroyed,” said Phil. + +“How did that happen?” + +Phil described the manner in which his violin had been stolen. + +“Do you know who stole it?” + +“It was that boy who tried to take it once in the Park.” + +“When I stopped him?” + +“Yes.” + +“I know him. It is Tim Rafferty. He is a mean boy; I will pay him up for +it.” + +“I do not care for it now,” said Phil. + +“But what will your padrone say when you come home without it?” + +“He would beat me, but I will not go home.” + +“What will you do?” + +“I will run away.” + +“Good for you, Phil! I like your spunk,” said Paul, heartily. “I +wouldn’t go back to the old villain if I were you. Where are you going?” + +“Away from New York. If I stay here the padrone would catch me.” + +“How much did you earn with your fiddle when you had it?” + +“Two dollars, if it was a good day.” + +“That is excellent. I’ll tell you what, Phil, if you could stay in the +city, I would invite you to come and live with us. You could pay your +share of the expense, say three or four dollars a week, and keep the +rest of your money to buy clothes, and to save.” + +“I should like it,” said Phil; “but if I stay in the city the padrone +would get hold of me.” + +“Has he any legal right to your services?” asked Paul. + +Phil looked puzzled. He did not understand the question. + +“I mean did your father sign any paper giving you to him?” + +“Yes,” said Phil, comprehending now. + +“Then I suppose he could take you back. You think you must go away from +the city, then, Phil?” + +“Yes.” + +“Where do you think of going?” + +“I do not know.” + +“You might go to Jersey--to Newark, which is quite a large city, only +ten miles from here.” + +“I should like to go there.” + +“I don’t think the padrone would send there to find you. But how are you +going to make your living--you have lost your fiddle?” + +“I can sing.” + +“But you would make more money with your fiddle.” + +“Si, signore.” + +“Don’t talk to me in Italian, Phil; I no understand it.” + +Phil laughed. + +“You can speak English much better than most Italian boys.” + +“Some cannot speak at all. Some speak french, because we all stayed in +Paris sometime before we came to America.” + +“Parlez-vous Francais?” + +“Oui, monsieur, un peu.” + +“Well, I can’t. Those three words are all the French I know. But, I say, +Phil, you ought to have a fiddle.” + +“I should like to have one. I should make more money.” + +“How much would one cost?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“I’ll tell you what I will do, Phil,” said Paul, after a moment’s +thought. “I know a pawnbroker’s shop on Chatham Street where there is +a fiddle for sale. I don’t think it will cost very much; not more than +five dollars. You must buy it.” + +“I have not five dollars,” said Phil. + +“Then I will lend you the money. You shall buy it, and when you have +earned money enough you shall come back to New York some day and pay +me.” + +“Thank you,” said Phil, gratefully. “I will surely pay you.” + +“Of course you will, Phil,” said Paul, confidently. “I can see by your +face that you are honest. I don’t believe you would cheat your friend.” + +“I would not cheat you, Signor Paul.” + +“I see, Phil, you are bound to make an Italian of me. You may just +call me Paul, and don’t mind about the signor. Now I’ll tell you what I +propose. I cannot leave my business for an hour and a half. You can go +where you please, but come back at that time, and I will take you home +to dinner with me. On the way back I will stop with you at the Chatham +Street store and ask the price of the violin; then, if it doesn’t cost +too much, I will buy it.” + +“All right,” said Phil. + +“You must come back at twelve o’clock, Phil.” + +“I will come.” + +Phil strolled down to the Battery, feeling a little strange without his +violin. He was elated with the thought of his coming freedom, and for +the first time since he landed in America the future looked bright to +him. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE TAMBOURINE GIRL + +Arriving at Trinity Church, Phil turned into Wall Street, looking about +him in a desultory way, for he was at present out of business. Men and +boys were hurrying by in different directions, to and from banks and +insurance offices, while here and there a lawyer or lawyer’s clerk might +be seen looking no less busy and preoccupied. If Phil had had three +thousand dollars instead of three, he, too, might have been interested +in the price of gold and stocks; but his financial education had +been neglected, and he could not have guessed within twenty the day’s +quotations for either. + +As he walked along his attention was suddenly drawn to a pair of +Italians, a man and a girl of twelve, the former turning a hand-organ, +the latter playing a tambourine. There was nothing unusual in the group; +but Phil’s heart beat quick for in the girl he thought he recognized a +playmate from the same village in which he was born and bred. + +“Lucia!” he called, eagerly approaching the pair. + +The girl turned quickly, and, seeing the young fiddler, let fall her +tambourine in surprise. + +“Filippo!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with the joy with which +we greet a friend’s face in a strange land. + +“Why did you drop your tambourine, scelerata?” demanded the man, +harshly. + +Lucia, a pretty, brown-faced girl, did not lose her joyful look even at +this rebuke. She stooped and picked up the tambourine, and began to play +mechanically, but continued to speak to Filippo. + +“How long are you in the city?” asked Phil, speaking, of course, in his +native language. + +“Only two weeks,” answered Lucia. “I am so glad to see you, Filippo.” + +“When did you come from Italy?” + +“I cannot tell. I think it is somewhere about two months.” + +“And did you see my mother before you came away?” asked Phil, eagerly. + +“Yes, Filippo, I saw her. She told me if I saw you to say that she +longed for her dear boy to return; that she thought of him day and +night.” + +“Did she say that, Lucia?” + +“Yes, Filippo.” + +“And is my mother well?” asked Phil, anxiously, for he had a strong love +for his mother. + +“She is well, Filippo--she is not sick, but she is thin, and she looks +sad.” + +“I will go and see her some day,” said Phil. “I wish I could see her +now.” + +“When will you go?” + +“I don’t know; when I am older.” + +“But where is your fiddle, Filippo?” asked Lucia. “Do you not play?” + +Filippo glanced at the organ-grinder, whom he did not dare to take into +his confidence. So he answered, evasively: + +“Another boy took it. I shall get another this afternoon.” + +“Are you with the padrone?” + +“Yes.” + +“Come, Lucia,” said the man, roughly, ceasing to play, “we must go on.” + +Lucia followed her companion obediently, reluctant to leave Phil, +with whom she desired to converse longer; but the latter saw that her +guardian did not wish the conversation to continue, and so did not +follow. + +This unexpected meeting with Lucia gave him much to think of. It carried +back his thoughts to his humble, but still dear, Italian home, and the +mother from whom he had never met with anything but kindness, and a +longing to see both made him for the moment almost sad. But he was +naturally of a joyous temperament, and hope soon returned. + +“I will save money enough to go home,” he said to himself. “It will not +take very much--not more than fifty dollars. I can get it soon if I do +not have to pay money to the padrone.” + +As may be inferred, Phil did not expect to return home in style. A +first-class ticket on a Cunarder was far above his expectations. He +would be content to go by steerage all the way, and that could probably +be done for the sum he named. So his sadness was but brief, and be soon +became hopeful again. + +He was aroused from his thoughts of home by a hand laid familiarly on +his shoulder. Turning, he saw a bootblack, whose adventures have +been chronicled in the volume called “Ragged Dick.” They had become +acquainted some three months before, Dick having acted as a protector to +Phil against some rough boys of his own class. + +“Been buyin’ stocks?” asked Dick. + +“I don’t know what they are,” said Phil, innocently. + +“You’re a green one,” said Dick. “I shall have to take you into my +bankin’ house and give you some training in business.” + +“Have you got a bankin’ house?” asked Phil, in surprise. + +“In course I have. Don’t you see it?” pointing to an imposing-looking +structure in front of which they were just passing. “My clerks is all +hard to work in there, while I go out to take the air for the benefit of +my constitushun.” + +Phil looked puzzled, not quite understanding Dick’s chaffing, and looked +rather inquiringly at the blacking box, finding it a little difficult to +understand why a banker on so large a scale should be blacking boots in +the street. + +“Shine your boots, sir?” said Dick to a gentleman just passing. + +“Not now; I’m in a hurry.” + +“Blackin’ boots is good exercise,” continued Dick, answering the doubt +in Phil’s face. “I do it for the benefit of my health, thus combinin’ +profit with salubriousness.” + +“I can’t understand such long words,” said Phil. “I don’t know much +English.” + +“I would talk to you in Italian,” said Dick, “only it makes my head +ache. What’s come of your fiddle? You haven’t sold it, and bought Erie +shares, have you?” + +“A boy stole it from me, and broke it.” + +“I’d like to lick him. Who was it?” + +“I think his name was Tim Rafferty.” + +“I know him,” said Dick. “I’ll give him a lickin’ next time I see him.” + +“Can you?” asked Phil, doubtfully, for his enemy was as large as Dick. + +“In course I can. My fists are like sledge-hammers. Jest feel my +muscle.” + +Dick straightened out his arm, and Phil felt of the muscle, which was +hard and firm. + +“It’s as tough as a ten-year-old chicken,” said Dick. “It won’t be +healthy for Tim to come round my way. What made him steal your fiddle? +He ain’t goin’ into the musical line, is he?” + +“He was angry because I didn’t want to lend it to him.” + +Just then Tim Rafferty himself turned the corner. There was a lull in +his business, and he was wandering along the street eating an apple. + +“There he is,” said Phil, suddenly espying his enemy. + +Dick looked up, and saw with satisfaction that Phil was right. Tim had +not yet espied either, nor did he till Dick addressed him. + +“Are you round collectin’ fiddles this mornin’?” he asked. + +Tim looked up, and, seeing that his victim had found an able champion, +felt anxious to withdraw. He was about to turn back, but Dick advanced +with a determined air. + +“Jest stop a minute, Tim Rafferty,” said he. “I’m a-goin’ to intervoo +you for the Herald. That’s what they do with all the big rascals +nowadays.” + +“I’m in a hurry,” said Tim. + +“That’s what the pickpocket said when the cop was gently persuadin’ him +to go to the Tombs, but the cop didn’t see it. I want the pleasure of +your society a minute or two. I hear you’re in the music business.” + +“No, I’m not,” said Tim, shortly. + +“What made you borrer this boy’s fiddle, then?” + +“I don’t know anything about it,” said Tim, in a fright. + +“Some folks forgets easy,” returned Dick. “I know a man what went into +Tiffany’s and took up a watch to look at, and carried it off, forgettin’ +to pay for it. That’s what he told the judge the next day, and the judge +sent him to the island for a few months to improve his memory. The air +over to the island is very good to improve the memory.” + +“You ought to know,” said Tim, sullenly; “you’ve been there times +enough.” + +“Have I?” said Dick. “Maybe you saw me there. Was it the ninth time you +were there, or the tenth?” + +“I never was there,” said Tim. + +“Maybe it was your twin brother.” suggested Dick. “What made you break +my friend’s fiddle? He wouldn’t have minded it so much, only it belonged +to his grandfather, a noble count, who made boots for a livin’.” + +“I don’t believe he had a fiddle at all,” said Tim. + +“That’s where your forgetfulness comes in,” said Dick “Have you forgot +the lickin’ I gave you last summer for stealin’ my blackin’ box?” + +“You didn’t lick me,” said Tim. + +“Then I’ll lick you harder next time,” said Dick. + +“You ain’t able,” said Tim, who, glancing over his shoulder, saw the +approach of a policeman, and felt secure. + +“I will be soon,” said Dick, who also observed the approach of the +policeman. “I’d do it now, only I’ve got to buy some gold for a friend +of mine. Just let me know when it’s perfectly convenient to take a +lickin’.” + +Tim shuffled off, glad to get away unharmed, and Dick turned to Phil. + +“I’ll give him a lickin’ the first time I catch him, when there isn’t a +cop around,” he said. + +Phil left his friend at this point, for he saw by the clock on Trinity +spire that it was time to go back to join Paul Hoffman, as he had +agreed. I may here add that Phil’s wrongs were avenged that same +evening, his friend, Dick, administered to Tim the promised “lickin’” + with such good effect that the latter carried a black eye for a week +afterwards. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +PHIL’S NEW PLANS + +As the clock struck twelve Phil reached the necktie stand of his friend, +Paul Hoffman. + +“Just in time,” said Paul. “Are you hungry?” + +“A little.” + +“That’s right. You’re going to dine with me; and I want you to bring a +good appetite with you.” + +“What will your mother say?” asked Phil, doubtfully. + +“Wait and see. If you don’t like what she says you can go off without +eating. Where have you been?” + +“I went down to Wall Street.” + +“On business?” inquired Paul, with a smile. + +“No,” said Phil, seriously. “I saw Lucia.” + +“Who is she?” + +“I forgot. You don’t know Lucia. She lived in my home in Italy, and I +used to play with her. She told me of my mother.” + +“That’s lucky, Phil. I hope your mother is well.” + +“She is not sick, but she is thin. She thinks of me,” said Phil. + +“Of course she does. You will go home and see her some day.” + +“I hope so.” + +“Of course you will,” said Paul, confidently. + +“I saw the boy who stole my fiddle,” continued Phil. + +“Tim Rafferty?” + +“Yes.” + +“What did he say?” + +“I was with a bootblack--the one they call ‘Ragged Dick.’ Do you know +him?” + +“Yes; I know Dick. He is a bully fellow, always joking.” + +“Dick wanted to lick him, but a policeman came, and he went away.” + +“Does Dick know that he stole your fiddle?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then he will be sure to punish him. It will save me the trouble.” + +The walk was not long. Soon they were at Paul’s door. + +“I have brought company to dinner, mother,” said Paul, entering first. + +“I am glad to see you, Phil,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Why have you not come +before?” + +“How is that, Phil? Will you stay now?” said Paul. + +Mrs. Hoffman looked at Paul inquiringly. + +“Phil was afraid he would not be welcome,” he exclaimed. + +“He is always welcome,” said Mrs. Hoffman. + +“Where is your fiddle?” asked Jimmy. + +“A boy took it,” said Phil, “and threw it into the street, and a wagon +went over it and broke it.” + +Jimmy was quite indignant for his friend, when the story had been told. + +“It’s lucky for Tim Rafferty that he is not here,” said Paul, “or he +might suffer.” + +“If I was a big boy I’d lick him,” said Jimmy, belligerently. + +“I never saw you so warlike before, Jimmy,” said Paul. + +To Phil this sympathy seemed pleasant. He felt that he was in the midst +of friends, and friends were not so plentiful as not to be valued. + +“What are you going to have for dinner, mother?” asked Paul. + +“I am sorry, Paul, that I have no warm meat. I have some cold roast +beef, some hot potatoes, and an apple pudding.” + +“You needn’t apologize, mother. That’s good enough for anybody. It’s as +good as Phil gets at his boarding house, I am sure. He has got rather +tired of it, and isn’t going to stay.” + +“Are you going to leave the padrone?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, with interest. + +“Si, signora,” said Phil. + +“Will he let you go?” + +“I shall run away,” said Phil. + +“You see, mother, Phil would be sure of a beating if he went home +without his fiddle. Now he doesn’t like to be beaten, and the padrone +gives harder beatings than you do, mother.” + +“I presume so,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling. “I do not think I am very +severe.” + +“No, you spoil the rod and spare the child.” + +“Is Phil going to stay in the city?” + +“No; the padrone would get hold of him if he did. He is going to New +Jersey to make his fortune.” + +“But he will need a fiddle.” + +“I am going to lend him money enough to buy one. I know a pawnbroker who +has one for sale. I think I can get it for three or four dollars. When +Phil gets it he is going around giving concerts. How much can you make +in a day, Phil?” + +“Sometimes I make two dollars,” answered Phil. + +“That is excellent, especially when you are your own padrone. You will +be able to save up money. You will have to buy a pocketbook, Phil.” + +“Where will you sleep, Phil?” asked Jimmy, interested. + +Phil shrugged his shoulders. He had not thought of that question +particularly. + +“I don’t know,” he said. “I can sleep anywhere.” + +“Of course he will stop at the first-class hotels, Jimmy,” said Paul, +“like all men of distinction. I shouldn’t wonder if he married an +heiress in six months, and went back to Italy on a bridal tour.” + +“He is too young to be married,” said Jimmy, who, it will be perceived, +understood everything literally. + +“I don’t know but he is,” said Paul, “but he isn’t too old to be hungry. +So, mother, whenever dinner is ready we shall be.” + +“It is all ready except peeling the potatoes, Paul.” + +“We can do that ourselves. It is good exercise, and will sharpen our +appetites. You will have to eat fast or there won’t be much left. Jimmy +is the most tremendous eater I ever saw, and won’t leave much for the +rest of us, if we give him the chance.” + +“Now, Paul,” expostulated Jimmy, feeling aggrieved at this charge, “you +know I don’t eat as much as you do.” + +“Hear him talk, Phil. I don’t eat more than enough to keep a fly alive.” + +“It must be a pretty large fly, Paul,” said Jimmy, slyly. + +“Good joke, Jimmy. Mother, you must give Jimmy twelve potatoes to-day +instead of the ten he usually eats.” + +“Oh, Paul, how can you tell such stories?” exclaimed Jimmy, shocked at +such an extravagant assertion. Phil laughed, for there was something +ludicrous in the idea of Jimmy, who was a slight boy of seven, making +away with such a large quantity, and the little boy began to see that it +was a joke at his expense. + +The dinner went off well. All had a good appetite, and did full justice +to Mrs. Hoffman’s cookery. The pudding in particular was pronounced a +success. It was so flaky and well-seasoned, and the sauce, flavored +with lemon, was so good, that everyone except Mrs. Hoffman took a +second piece. For the first time since he had left Italy, Phil felt +the uncomfortable sensation of having eaten too much. However, with the +discomfort was the pleasant recollection of a good dinner, and to the +mind of the little fiddler the future brightened, as it is very apt to +do under such circumstances, and he felt ready to go out and achieve his +fortune. + +“Why won’t you stop with us to-night, Phil, and start on your journey +to-morrow?” asked Mrs. Hoffman. “I am sure Jimmy would be glad of your +company.” + +“Yes, Phil, stay,” said Paul. + +Phil hesitated. It was a tempting invitation, but, on the other hand, if +he remained in the city till the next day he might be in danger from the +padrone. + +He expressed this fear. + +“I am afraid the padrone would catch me,” he said. + +“No, he won’t. You can go out with me and buy the fiddle now, and then +come back and play to mother and Jimmy. To-morrow morning I will go with +you to the Jersey City Ferry myself, and if we meet the padrone, I’ll +give him a hint to be off.” + +Phil still hesitated, but finally yielded to the united request. But it +was now one o’clock, and Paul must be back to his business. Phil took +his cap and went with him to purchase the fiddle, promising to come back +directly. + +They went into Chatham Street, and soon halted before a small shop, +in front of which were three gilt balls, indicating that it was a +pawnbroker’s shop. + +Entering, they found themselves in a small apartment, about twelve feet +front by twenty in depth, completely filled with pawnable articles in +great variety a large part, however, consisting of clothing; for when +the poor have occasion to raise money at a pawnbroker’s, they generally +find little in their possession to pawn except their clothing. Here was +a shawls pawned for a few shillings by a poor woman whose intemperate +husband threw the burden of supporting two young children upon her. +Next to it was a black coat belonging to a clerk, who had been out of +employment for three months, and now was out of money also. Here was a +child’s dress, pawned by the mother in dire necessity to save the +child from starving. There was a plain gold ring, snatched by a drunken +husband from the finger of his poor wife, not to buy food, but to +gratify his insatiable craving for drink. + +Over this scene of confusion presided a little old man with blear eyes +and wrinkled face, but with a sharp glance, fully alive to his own +interests. He was an Englishman born, but he had been forty years +in America. He will be remembered by those who have read “Paul the +Peddler.” Though nearly as poverty-stricken in appearance as his poorest +customers, the old man was rich, if reports were true. His business was +a very profitable one, allowing the most exorbitant rates of interest, +and, being a miser, he spent almost nothing on himself, so that his +hoards had increased to a considerable amount. + +He looked up sharply, as Paul and Phil entered, and scanned them closely +with his ferret-like eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE FASHIONABLE PARTY + +Eliakim Henderson, for this was the pawnbroker’s name, did not remember +Paul, though on one occasion our hero had called upon him. Nearly +all his customers came to pawn articles, not to purchase, and Eliakim +naturally supposed that the two boys had come on this errand. Before +entering, Paul said to Phil, “Don’t say anything; leave me to manage.” + +As they entered, Phil espied a fiddle hanging up behind the counter, +and he saw at a glance that it was better than the one he had been +accustomed to play upon. But to his surprise, Paul did not refer to it +at first. + +“What will you give me on this coat?” asked Paul, indicating the one he +had on. + +He had no intention of selling it, but preferred to come to the fiddle +gradually, that the pawnbroker might not think that was his main object, +and so charge an extra price. + +Eliakim scanned the garment critically. It was nearly new and in +excellent condition, and he coveted it. + +“I will give you a dollar,” said he, naming a price low enough to +advance upon. + +“That is too little,” said Paul, shaking his head. + +“I might give you fifty cents more, but I should lose if you didn’t +redeem it.” + +“I don’t think you would. I paid ten dollars for it.” + +“But it is old.” + +“No, it isn’t; I have only had it a few weeks.” + +“How much do you want on it?” asked Eliakim, scanning Paul sharply, to +see how much he seemed in want of money. + +“I don’t want any to-day. If I should want some next week, I will come +in.” + +“It will be older next week,” said Eliakim, not wanting to lose the +bargain, for he hoped it would not be redeemed. + +“Never mind; I can get along till then.” + +“Can I do no business with you this morning?” asked Eliakim, +disappointed. + +“I don’t know,” said Paul, looking carelessly around. “My friend here +would like a fiddle, if he can get one cheap. What do you ask for that +one up there?” + +Eliakim took down the fiddle with alacrity. He had had it on hand for +a year without securing a customer. It had originally been pawned by a +poor musician, for a dollar and a quarter, but the unfortunate owner had +never been able to redeem it. Among his customers, the pawnbroker had +not found one sufficiently musical to take it off his hands. Here was a +slight chance, and he determined to effect a sale if he could. + +“It is a splendid instrument,” he said, enthusiastically, brushing off +the dust with a dirty cotton handkerchief. “I have had many chances to +sell it.” + +“Why didn’t you sell it, then?” demanded Paul, who did not believe a +word of this. + +“Because it was only pawned. I kept it for the owner.” + +“Oh, well; if you can’t sell it, it doesn’t matter.” + +“It is for sale now,” said Eliakim, quickly. “He has not come for +it, and I shall keep it no longer. Just try it. See what a sp-l-endid +instrument it is!” said the pawnbroker, dwelling on the adjective to +give emphasis to it. + +Paul tried it, but not knowing how to play, of course created only +discord. He did not offer it to Phil, because the young Italian boy +would have made it sound too well and so enhanced the price. + +“It don’t sound very well,” said he, indifferently; “but I suppose it +will do to learn on. What do you want for it?” + +“Five dollars,” said Eliakim, studying the face of Paul, to observe the +effect of his announcement. + +“Five dollars,” repeated Paul. “Take it back, then, and wait till A. T. +Stewart wants one. I haven’t got five dollars to throw away.” + +But the pawnbroker did not expect to get his first price. He named it, +in order to have a chance to fall. + +“Stay,” he said, as Paul made a motion to leave; “what will you give me +for it?” + +“I’ll give you a dollar and a half,” said Paul, turning back. + +“A dollar and a half!” exclaimed Eliakim, holding up both hands in +horror. “Do you want to ruin me?” + +“No, I think you want to ruin me. I am willing to pay a fair price.” + +“You may have it for three dollars and a half.” + +“No doubt you’d be glad to get that. Come, Phil, we’ll go.” + +“Stay; you may have it for three dollars, though I shall lose by it.” + +“So should I, if I paid you that price. I can wait till some other +time.” + +But Eliakim did not intend to let this chance slip. He had found the +fiddle rather unsalable, and feared if he lost his chance of disposing +of it, it might remain on his hands for a year more. He was willing, +therefore, to take less than the profit he usually calculated upon in +the sale of articles which remained unredeemed. + +“You may have it for two dollars and a half,” he said. + +As far as Paul could judge, though he did not know much about the price +of violins, this was a reasonable price. But he knew that Eliakim must +have got it for considerably less, or he would not so soon have come +down to this sum. He did not hesitate, therefore, to try to get it a +little cheaper. + +“I’ll give you two dollars and a quarter,” he said, “and not a penny +more.” + +Eliakim tried hard to get ten cents more, but Paul saw that he was sure +of his purchase, and remained obdurate. So, after a pretense of putting +up the fiddle, the pawnbroker finally said, “You may have it, but I tell +you that I shall lose money.” + +“All right,” said Paul; “hand it over.” + +“Where is the money?” asked Eliakim, cautiously. + +Paul drew from his pocket a two-dollar bill and twenty-five cents in +currency, and received the fiddle. The pawnbroker scrutinized the money +closely, fearing that it might be bad; but finally, making up his mind +on that point, deposited it in his money drawer. + +“Well, Phil, we may as well go,” said Paul. “We’ve got through our +business.” + +The pawnbroker heard this, and a sudden suspicion entered his mind that +Paul had been too sharp for him. + +“I might have got twenty-five cents more,” he thought regretfully; and +this thought disturbed the complacency he felt at first. + +“Well, Phil, how do you like it?” asked Paul, as they emerged into the +street. + +“Let me try it,” said Phil, eagerly. + +He struck up a tune, which he played through, his face expressing the +satisfaction he felt. + +“Is it as good as your old one?” + +“It is much better,” said Phil. “I will pay you for it;” and he drew out +the money the sailors had given him in the morning. + +“No, Phil,” said his friend, “you may need that money. Keep it, and pay +me when you have more.” + +“But I shall be away.” + +“You will come to the city some day. When you do you will know where to +find me. Now go and play a tune to Jimmy. He is waiting for you. If you +remain in the streets, your old enemy, Tim Rafferty, may want to borrow +your fiddle again.” + +“You are very kind to me, Paolo,” said Phil, raising his dark eyes with +a sudden impulse of gratitude. + +“It’s nothing, Phil,” said Paul, modestly; “you would do the same for me +if I needed it.” + +“Yes, I would,” said Phil; “but I am poor, and I cannot help you.” + +“You won’t be poor always, Phil,” said Paul, cheerfully, “nor I either, +I hope. I mean to be a merchant some time on a bigger scale than now. As +for you, you will be a great player, and give concerts at the Academy of +Music.” + +Phil laughed, but still seemed pleased at the prophecy. + +“Well, Phil, I must bid you good-by for a little while, or my clerks +will be cheating me. I will see you at supper.” + +“Addio, Paolo,” said Phil. + +“Addio,” said Paul, laughing. “Wouldn’t I make a good Italian?” + +Paul returned to his stand, and Phil took the direction of Mrs. +Hoffman’s rooms. While on his way he heard the sound of a hand-organ, +and, looking across the way, saw, with some uneasiness, his old enemy +Pietro, playing to a crowd of boys. + +“I hope he won’t see me,” said Phil to himself. + +He was afraid Pietro would remember his old violin, and, seeing the +difference in the instrument he now had, inquire how he got it. He +might, if not satisfied on this point, take Phil home with him, which +would be fatal to his plans. He thought it prudent, therefore, to +turn down the next street, and get out of sight as soon as possible. +Fortunately for him Pietro had his back turned, so that he did not +observe him. Nothing would have pleased him better than to get the +little fiddler into trouble, for, besides being naturally malicious, he +felt that an exhibition of zeal in his master’s service would entitle +him to additional favors at the hands of the padrone, whom he hoped some +day to succeed. + +“Oh, what a beautiful fiddle!” said Jimmy, in admiration, as Phil +reappeared. “Do you think I could play on it?” + +Phil shook his head, smiling. + +“Don’t let Jimmy have it. He would only spoil it,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I +don’t think he would succeed as well in music as in drawing.” + +“Will you play something?” asked Jimmy. + +Phil willingly complied, and for half an hour held Jimmy entranced with +his playing. The little boy then undertook to teach Phil how to draw, +but at this Phil probably cut as poor a figure as his instructor would +have done at playing on the violin. + +So the afternoon wore away, happily for all three, and at five Paul +made his appearance. When supper was over Phil played again, and this +attracting the attention of the neighbors, Mrs. Hoffman’s rooms were +gradually filled with visitors, who finally requested Phil to play some +dancing tunes. Finding him able to do so, an impromptu dance was got +up, and Mrs. Hoffman, considerably to her surprise, found that she was +giving a dancing-party. Paul, that nothing might be left out, took a +companion with him and they soon reappeared with cake and ice cream, +which were passed around amid great hilarity; and it was not until +midnight that the last visitor went out, and the sound of music and +laughter was hushed. + +“You are getting fashionable in your old age, mother,” said Paul, gayly. +“I think I shall send an account of your party to the Home Journal.” + +“I believe it is usual to describe the dresses of the ladies,” said Mrs. +Hoffman, smiling. + +“Oh, yes, I won’t forget that. Just give me a piece of paper and see how +I will do it.” + +Paul, whose education, I repeat here, was considerably above that of +most boys in his position, sat down and hastily wrote the following +description, which was read to the great amusement of his auditors: + +“Mrs. Hoffman, mother of the well-known artist, Jimmy Hoffman, Esq., +gave a fashionable party last evening. Her spacious and elegant +apartments were crowded with finely dressed gentlemen and ladies from +the lower part of the city. Signor Filippo, the great Italian musician, +furnished the music. Mrs. Hoffman appeared in a costly calico dress, and +had a valuable gold ring on one of her fingers. Her son, the artist, +was richly dressed in a gray suit, purchased a year since. Miss Bridget +Flaherty, of Mott Street, was the belle of the occasion, and danced with +such grace and energy that the floor came near giving away beneath her +fairy tread. [Miss Flaherty, by the way, weighed one hundred and eighty +pounds.] Mr. Mike Donovan, newspaper merchant, handed round refreshments +with his usual graceful and elegant deportment. Miss Matilda Wiggins +appeared in a magnificent print dress, imported from Paris by A. T. +Stewart, and costing a shilling a yard. No gloves were worn, as they +are now dispensed with in the best society. At a late hour the guests +dispersed. Mrs. Hoffman’s party will long be remembered as the most +brilliant of the season.” + +“I did not know you had so much talent for reporting, Paul,” said his +mother. “You forgot one thing, however.” + +“What is that?” + +“You said nothing of yourself.” + +“I was too modest, mother. However, if you insist upon it, I will do so. +Anything at all to please you.” + +Paul resumed his writing and in a short time had the following: + +“Among those present we observed the handsome and accomplished Paul +Hoffman, Esq., the oldest son of the hostess. He was elegantly dressed +in a pepper-and-salt coat and vest, blue necktie, and brown breeches, +and wore a six-cent diamond breastpin in the bosom of his shirt. His +fifteen-cent handkerchief was perfumed with cologne which he imported +himself at a cost of ten cents per bottle. He attracted general +admiration.” + +“You seem to have got over your modesty, Paul,” said his mother. + +“I am sleepy,” said Jimmy, drowsily rubbing his eyes. + +As this expressed the general feeling, they retired to bed at once, and +in half an hour were wandering in the land of dreams. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE PADRONE IS ANXIOUS + +The next morning Paul and Phil rose later that usual. They slept longer, +in order to make up for the late hour at which they retired. As they sat +down to breakfast, at half-past eight, Paul said: “I wonder whether the +padrone misses you, Phil?” + +“Yes,” said Phil; “he will be very angry because I did not come back +last night.” + +“Will he think you have run away?” + +“I do not know. Some of the boys stay away sometimes, because they are +too far off to come home.” + +“Then he may expect you to-night. I suppose he will have a beating ready +for you.” + +“Yes, he would beat me very hard,” said Phil, “if he thought I did not +mean to come back.” + +“I should like to go and tell him that he need not expect you. I should +like to see how he looks.” + +“He might beat you, too, Paolo.” + +“I should like to see him try it,” said Paul, straightening up with a +consciousness of strength. “He might find that rather hard.” + +Phil looked admiringly at the boy who was not afraid of the padrone. +Like his comrades, he had been accustomed to think of the padrone as +possessed of unlimited power, and never dreamed of anybody defying him, +or resisting his threats. Though he had determined to run away, his soul +was not free from the tyranny of his late taskmaster, and he thought +with uneasiness and dread of the possibility of his being conveyed back +to him. + +“Well, mother,” said Paul, glancing at the clock as he rose from the +breakfast table, “it is almost nine o’clock--rather a late hour for a +business man like me.” + +“You are not often so late, Paul.” + +“It is lucky that I am my own employer, or I might run the risk of +being discharged. I am afraid the excuse that I was at Mrs. Hoffman’s +fashionable party would not be thought sufficient. I guess I won’t have +time to stop to shave this morning.” + +“You haven’t got anything to shave,” said Jimmy. + +“Don’t be envious, Jimmy. I counted several hairs this morning. Well, +Phil, are you ready to go with me? Don’t forget your fiddle.” + +“When shall we see you again, Philip?” said Mrs. Hoffman. + +“I do not know,” said the little minstrel. + +“Shall you not come to the city sometimes?” + +“I am afraid the padrone would catch me,” said Phil. + +“Whenever you do come, Phil,” said Paul, “come right to me. I will take +care of you. I don’t think the padrone will carry us both off, and he +would have to take me if he took you.” + +“Good-by, Philip,” said Mrs. Hoffman, offering her hand. “I hope you +will prosper.” + +“So do I, Phil,” said Jimmy. + +Phil thus took with him the farewells and good wishes of two friends +who had been drawn to him by his attractive face and good qualities. He +could not help wishing that he might stay with them permanently, but he +knew that this could not be. To remain in the same city with the padrone +was out of the question. + +Meanwhile we return to the house which Phil had forsaken, and inquire +what effect was produced by his non-appearance. + +It was the rule of the establishment that all the boys should be back +by midnight. Phil had generally returned an hour before that time. When, +therefore, it was near midnight, the padrone looked uneasily at the +clock. + +“Have you seen Filippo?” he asked, addressing his nephew. + +“No, signore,” answered Pietro. “Filippo has not come in.” + +“Do you think he has run away?” asked the padrone, suspiciously. + +“I don’t know,” said Pietro. + +“Have you any reason to think he intended to run away?” + +“No,” said Pietro. + +“I should not like to lose him. He brings me more money than most of the +boys.” + +“He may come in yet.” + +“When he does,” said the padrone, frowning, “I will beat him for being +so late. Is there any boy that he would be likely to tell, if he meant +to run away?” + +“Yes,” said Pietro, with a sudden thought, “there is Giacomo.” + +“The sick boy?” + +“Yes. Filippo went in this morning to speak to him. He might have told +him then.” + +“That is true. I will go and ask him.” + +Giacomo still lay upon his hard pallet, receiving very little attention. +His fever had increased, and he was quite sick. He rolled from one side +to the other in his restlessness. He needed medical attention, but the +padrone was indifferent, and none of the boys would have dared to call +a doctor without his permission. As he lay upon his bed, the padrone +entered the room with a hurried step. + +“Where is Giacomo?” he demanded, harshly. + +“Here I am, signore padrone,” answered the little boy, trembling, as he +always did when addressed by the tyrant. + +“Did Filippo come and speak with you this morning, before he went out?” + +“Si, signore.” + +“What did he say?” + +“He asked me how I felt.” + +“What did you tell him?” + +“I told him I felt sick.” + +“Nothing more?” + +“I told him I thought I should die.’ + +“Nonsense!” said the padrone, harshly; “you are a coward. You have a +little cold, that is all. Did he say anything about running away?” + +“No, signore.” + +“Don’t tell me a lie!” said the tyrant, frowning. + +“I tell you the truth, signore padrone. Has not Filippo come home?” + +“No.” + +“I do not think he has run away,” said the little boy. + +“Why not?” + +“I think he would tell me.” + +“So you two are friends, are you?” + +“Si, signore; I love Filippo,” answered Giacomo, speaking the last words +tenderly, and rather to himself than to the padrone. He looked up to +Phil, though little older than himself, with a mixture of respect +and devotion, leaning upon him as the weak are prone to lean upon the +strong. + +“Then you will be glad to hear,” said the padrone, with a refinement of +cruelty, “that I shall beat him worse than last night for staying out so +late.” + +“Don’t beat him, padrone,” pleaded Giacomo, bursting into tears. +“Perhaps he cannot come home.” + +“Did he ever speak to you of running away?” asked the padrone, with a +sudden thought. + +Giacomo hesitated. He could not truthfully deny that Filippo had done +so, but he did not want to get his friend into trouble. He remained +silent, looking up at the tyrant with troubled eyes. + +“Why do you not speak? Did you hear my question?” asked the padrone, +with a threatening gesture. + +Had the question been asked of some of the other boys present, they +would not have scrupled to answer falsely; but Giacomo had a religious +nature, and, neglected as he had been, he could not make up his mind to +tell a falsehood. So, after a pause, he faltered out a confession that +Phil had spoken of flight. + +“Do you hear that, Pietro?” said the padrone, turning to his nephew. +“The little wretch has doubtless run away.” + +“Shall I look for him to-morrow?” asked Pietro, with alacrity, for to +him it would be a congenial task to drag Phil home, and witness the +punishment. + +“Yes, Pietro. I will tell you where to go in the morning. We must have +him back, and I will beat him so that he will not dare to run away +again.” + +The padrone would have been still more incensed could he have looked +into Mrs. Hoffman’s room and seen the little fiddler the center of a +merry group, his brown face radiant with smiles as he swept the chords +of his violin. It was well for Phil that he could not see him. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +PHIL ELUDES HIS PURSUER + +Phil had already made up his mind where to go. Just across the river was +New Jersey, with its flourishing towns and cities, settled to a large +extent by men doing business in New York. The largest of these cities +was Newark, only ten miles distant. There Phil decided to make his +first stop. If he found himself in danger of capture he could easily +go farther. This plan Paul approved, and it was to be carried into +execution immediately. + +“I will go down to the Cortlandt Street Ferry with you, Phil,” said +Paul. + +“I should like to have you, if it will not take you from your business, +Paolo.” + +“My business can wait,” said Paul. “I mean to see you safe out of the +city. The padrone may be in search of you already.” + +“I think he will send Pietro to find me,” said Phil. + +“Who is Pietro?” + +Phil explained that Pietro was the padrone’s nephew and assisted in +oppressing the boys. + +“I hope he will send him,” said Paul. + +Phil looked up in surprise. + +“I should like to see this Pietro. What would he do if he should find +you?” + +“He would take me back.” + +“If you did not want to go?” + +“I couldn’t help it,” said Phil, shrugging his shoulders. “He is much +bigger than I.” + +“Is he bigger than I am?” + +“I think he is as big.” + +“He isn’t big enough to take you away if I am with you.” + +Paul did not say this boastfully, but with a quiet confidence in his own +powers in which he was justified. Though by no means quarrelsome, he +had on several occasions been forced in self-defense into a contest with +boys of his own size, and in some instances larger, and in every case he +had acquitted himself manfully, and come off victorious. + +“I should not be afraid if you were with me, Paolo,” said Phil. + +“You are right, Phil,” said Paul, approvingly. “But here we are at the +ferry.” + +Cortlandt Street is a short distance below the Astor House, and leads +to the ferry, connecting on the other side with trains bound for +Philadelphia and intermediate places. + +Paul paid the regular toll, and passed through the portal with Phil. + +“Are you going with me?” asked the little fiddler, in surprise. + +“Only to Jersey City, Phil. There might be some of your friends on board +the boat. I want to see you safe on the cars. Then I must leave you.” + +“You are very kind, Paolo.” + +“You are a good little chap, Phil, and I mean to help you. But the boat +is about ready to start. Let us go on board.” + +They walked down the pier, and got on the boat a minute before it +started. They did not pass through to the other end, but, leaning +against the side, kept their eyes fixed on the city they were about to +leave. They had not long to wait. The signal was heard, and the boat +started leisurely from the pier. It was but ten feet distant, when the +attention of Paul and Phil was drawn to a person running down the drop +in great haste. He evidently wanted to catch the boat, but was too late. + +Phil clutched at Paul’s arm, and pointed to him in evident excitement. + +“It is Pietro,” he said. + +At that moment Pietro, standing on the brink, caught sight of the boy +he was pursuing, looking back at him from the deck of the ferry-boat. +A look of exultation and disappointment swept over his face as he saw +Phil, but realized that he was out of his reach. He had a hand-organ +with him, and this had doubtless encumbered him, and prevented his +running as fast as he might otherwise. + +“So that is Pietro, is it?” said Paul, regarding him attentively in +order to fix his face in his memory. + +“Yes, Paolo,” said Phil, his eyes fixed nervously upon his pursuer, who +maintained his place, and was watching him with equal attention. + +“You are not frightened, Phil, are you?” + +Phil admitted that he was. + +“He will come over in the next boat,” he said. + +“But he will not know where you are.” + +“He will seek me.” + +“Will he? Then I think he will be disappointed. The cars will start +on the other side before the next boat arrives. I found out about that +before we started.” + +Phil felt relieved by this intelligence, but still he was nervous. +Knowing well Pietro’s malice, he dreaded the chances of his capturing +him. + +“He stays there. He does not go away,” said Phil. + +“It will do him no good, Phil. He is like a cat watching a canary bird +beyond his reach. I don’t think he will catch you to-day.” + +“He may go in the cars, too,” suggested Phil. + +“That is true. On the whole, Phil, when you get to Newark, I advise +you to walk into the country. Don’t stay in the city. He might find you +there.” + +“I will do what you say, Paolo. It will be better.” + +They soon reached the Jersey shore. The railroad station was close by. +They went thither at once, and Phil bought a ticket for Newark. + +“How soon will the cars start?” inquired Paul of a railway official. + +“In five minutes,” was the answer. + +“Then, Phil, I advise you to get into the cars at once. Take a seat +on the opposite side, though there is no chance of your being seen by +Pietro, who will get here too late. Still, it is best to be on the safe +side. I will stay near the ferry and watch Pietro when he lands. Perhaps +I will have a little conversation with him.” + +“I will go, Paolo.” + +“Well, good-by, Phil, and good luck,” said Paul, cheerfully. “If you +ever come to New York, come to see me.” + +“Yes, Paolo, I will be sure to come.” + +“And, Phil, though I don’t think you will ever fall into the power +of that old brute again (I am sure you won’t if you take good care of +yourself), still, if he does get you back again, come to me the first +chance you get, and I will see what I can do for you.” + +“Thank you, Paolo. I will remember your kindness always,” said the +little fiddler, gratefully. + +“That is all right, Phil. Good-by!” + +“Good-by!” said Phil, and, shaking the hand of his new friend, he +ascended the steps, and took a seat on the opposite side, as Paul had +recommended. + +“I am sorry to part with Phil,” said Paul to himself. “He’s a fine +little chap, and I like him. If ever that old brute gets hold of him +again, he shan’t keep him long. Now, Signor Pietro, I’ll go back and see +you on your arrival.” + +Phil was right in supposing that Pietro would take passage on the next +boat. He waited impatiently on the drop till it touched, and sprang on +board. He cursed the interval of delay, fearing that it would give Phil +a chance to get away. However, there was no help for this. Time and tide +wait for no man, but it often happens that we are compelled to wait for +them. But at length the boat touched the Jersey shore, and Pietro +sprang out and hurried to the gates, looking eagerly on all sides for a +possible glimpse of the boy he sought. He did not see him, for the cars +were already on their way, but his eyes lighted up with satisfaction as +they lighted on Paul, whom he recognized as the companion of Phil. He +had seen him talking to the little fiddler. Probably he would know where +he had gone. He walked up to Paul, who was standing near, and, touching +his cap, said: “Excuse me, signore, but have you seen my little +brother?” + +“Your little brother?” repeated Paul, deliberately. + +“Si, signore, a little boy with a fiddle. He was so high;” and Pietro +indicated the height of Phil correctly by his hand. + +“There was a boy came over in the boat with me,” said Paul. + +“Yes, yes; he is the one, signore,” said Pietro, eagerly. + +“And he is your brother?” + +“Si, signore.” + +“That’s a lie,” thought Paul, “I should know it even if Phil had +not told me. Phil is a handsome little chap. He wouldn’t have such a +villainous-looking brother as you.” + +“Can you tell me where he has gone?” asked Pietro, eagerly. + +“Didn’t he tell you where he was going?” asked Paul, in turn. + +“I think he means to run away,” said Pietro. “Did you see where he +went?” + +“Why should he want to run away?” asked Paul, who enjoyed tantalizing +Pietro, who he saw was chafing with impatience. “Did you not treat him +well?” + +“He is a little rascal,” said Pietro. “He is treated well, but he is a +thief.” + +“And you are his brother,” repeated Paul, significantly. + +“Did you see where he went?” asked Pietro, getting angry. “I want to +take him back to his father.” + +“How should I know?” returned Paul, coolly. “Do you think I have nothing +to do but to look after your brother?” + +“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” said Pietro, incensed. + +“Don’t get mad,” said Paul, indifferently; “it won’t do you any good. +Perhaps, if you look round, you will see your brother. I’ll tell him you +want him if I see him.” + +Pietro looked at Paul suspiciously. It struck him that the latter might +be making a fool of him, but Paul looked so utterly indifferent that +he could judge nothing from his appearance. He concluded that Phil was +wandering about somewhere in Jersey City. + +It did not occur to him that he might have taken the cars for some +more distant place. At any rate, there seemed no chance of getting any +information out of Paul. So he adjusted his hand-organ and walked up the +street leading from the ferry, looking sharply on either side, hoping to +catch a glimpse of the runaway; but, of course, in vain. + +“I don’t think you’ll find Phil to-day, Signor Pietro,” said Paul to +himself, as he watched his receding form. “Now, as there is nothing more +to be done here, I will go back to business.” + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +PIETRO’S PURSUIT + +The distance from New York to Newark is but ten miles. Phil had been +there once before with an older boy. He was at no loss, therefore, as to +the proper place to get out. He stepped from the cars and found himself +in a large depot. He went out of a side door, and began to wander about +the streets of Newark. Now, for the first time, he felt that he was +working for himself, and the feeling was an agreeable one. True, he did +not yet feel wholly secure. Pietro might possibly follow in the next +train. He inquired at the station when the next train would arrive. + +“In an hour,” was the reply. + +It would be an hour, therefore, before Pietro could reach Newark. + +He decided to walk on without stopping till he reached the outskirts +of the city, and not venture back till nightfall, when there would be +little or no danger. + +Accordingly he plodded on for an hour and a half, till he came where the +houses were few and scattered at intervals. In a business point of view +this was not good policy, but safety was to be consulted first of all. +He halted at length before a grocery store, in front of which he saw a +small group of men standing. His music was listened to with attention, +but when he came to pass his cap round afterward the result was small. +In fact, to be precise, the collection amounted to but eight cents. + +“How’s business, boy?” asked a young man who stood at the door in his +shirt-sleeves, and was evidently employed in the grocery. + +“That is all I have taken,” said Phil, showing the eight cents. + +“Did you come from New York this morning?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then you haven’t got enough to pay for your ticket yet?” + +Phil shrugged his shoulders. + +“I don’t believe you’ll make your fortune out here.” + +Phil was of precisely the same opinion, but kept silent. + +“You would have done better to stay in New York.” + +To this also Phil mentally assented, but there were imperative reasons, +as we know, for leaving the great city. + +It was already half-past twelve, and Phil began, after his walk, to +feel the cravings of appetite. He accordingly went into the grocery and +bought some crackers and cheese, which he sat down by the stove and ate. + +“Are you going farther?” asked the same young man who had questioned him +before. + +“I shall go back to Newark to-night,” said Phil. + +“Let me try your violin.” + +“Can you play?” asked Phil, doubtfully, for he feared that an +unpracticed player might injure the instrument. + +“Yes, I can play. I’ve got a fiddle at home myself.” + +Our hero surrendered his fiddle to the young man, who played passably. + +“You’ve got a pretty good fiddle,” he said. “I think it’s better than +mine. Can you play any dancing tunes?” + +Phil knew one or two, and played them. + +“If you were not going back to Newark, I should like to have you play +with me this evening. I don’t have anybody to practice with.” + +“I would not know where to sleep,” said Phil, hesitatingly. + +“Oh, we’ve got beds enough in our house. Will you stay?” + +Phil reflected that he had no place to sleep in Newark except such as he +might hire, and decided to accept the offer of his new friend. + +“This is my night off from the store,” he said. “I haven’t got to come +back after supper. Just stay around here till six o’clock. Then I’ll +take you home and give you some supper, and then we’ll play this +evening.” + +Phil had no objection to this arrangement. In fact, it promised to be an +agreeable one for him. As he was sure of a supper, a bed and breakfast, +there was no particular necessity for him to earn anything more +that day. However, he went out for an hour or two, and succeeded in +collecting twenty-five cents. He realized, however, that it was not so +easy to pick up pennies in the country as in the city--partly because +population is sparser and partly because, though there is less privation +in the country, there is also less money. + +A little before six Phil’s new friend, whose name he ascertained was +Edwin Grover, washed his hands, and, putting on his coat, said “Come +along, Phil.” + +Phil, who had been sitting near the stove, prepared to accompany him. + +“We haven’t got far to go,” said Edwin, who was eighteen. “I am glad of +that, for the sooner I get to the supper table the better.” + +After five minutes’ walk they stopped at a comfortable two-story house +near the roadside. + +“That’s where I put up,” said Edwin. + +He opened the door and entered, followed by Phil, who felt a little +bashful, knowing that he was not expected. + +“Have you got an extra plate, mother?” asked Edwin. “This is a professor +of the violin, who is going to help me make some music this evening.” + +“He is welcome,” said Mrs. Grover, cheerfully, “We can make room for +him. He is an Italian, I suppose. What is your name?” + +“Filippo.” + +“I will call you Philip. I suppose that is the English name. Will you +lay down your violin and draw up to the fire?” + +“I am not cold,” said Phil. + +“He is not cold, he is hungry, as Ollendorf says,” said Edwin, who had +written a few French exercises according to Ollendorf’s system. “Is +supper almost ready?” + +“It will be ready at once. There is your father coming in at the front +gate, and Henry with him.” + +Mr. Grover entered, and Phil made the acquaintance of the rest of the +family. He soon came to feel that he was a welcome guest, and shared +in the family supper, which was well cooked and palatable. Then Edwin +brought out his fiddle, and the two played various tunes. Phil caught +one or two new dancing tunes from his new friend, and in return taught +him an Italian air. Three or four people from a neighboring family +came in, and a little impromptu dance was got up. So the evening passed +pleasantly, and at half-past ten they went to bed, Phil sleeping in a +little room adjoining that in which the brothers Edwin and Harry slept. + +After breakfast the next morning Phil left the house, with a cordial +invitation to call again when he happened to be passing. + +Before proceeding with his adventures, we must go back to Pietro. + +He, as we know, failed to elicit any information from Paul likely +to guide him in his pursuit of Phil. He was disappointed. Still, +he reflected that Phil had but a quarter of an hour’s start of +him--scarcely that, indeed--and if he stopped to play anywhere, he would +doubtless easily find him. There was danger, of course, that he would +turn off somewhere, and Pietro judged it best to inquire whether such a +boy had passed. + +Seeing two boys playing in the street, he inquired: “Have you seen +anything of my little brother?” + +“What does he look like?” inquired one. + +“He is not quite so large as you. He had a fiddle with him.” + +“No, I haven’t seen him. Have you, Dick?” + +“Yes,” said the other, “there was a boy went along with a fiddle.” + +This was true, but, as we know, it was not Phil. + +“Did you see where he went?” demanded Pietro, eagerly. + +“Straight ahead,” was the reply. + +Lured by the delusive hope these words awakened, Pietro went on. He did +not stop to play on his organ. He was too intent on finding Phil. At +length, at a little distance before him, he saw a figure about the size +of Phil, playing on the violin. He hurried forward elated, but when +within a few yards he discovered to his disappointment that it was not +Phil, but a little fiddler of about his size. He was in the employ of a +different padrone. He was doubtless the one the boy had seen. + +Disappointed, Pietro now turned back, and bent his steps to the ferry. +But he saw nothing of Phil on the way. + +“I would like to beat him, the little wretch!” he said to himself, +angrily. “If I had not been too late for the boat, I would have easily +caught him.” + +It never occurred to Pietro that Phil might have taken the cars for a +more distant point, as he actually did. The only thing he could think +of, for he was not willing to give up the pursuit, was to go back. He +remained in Jersey City all day, wandering about the streets, peering +here and there; but he did not find Phil, for a very good reason. + +The padrone awaited his report at night with some impatience. Phil was +one of the smartest boys he had, and he had no mind to lose him. + +“Did you find him, Pietro?” he asked as soon as his nephew entered his +presence. + +“I saw him,” said Pietro. + +“Then why did you not bring him back?” + +Pietro explained the reason. His uncle listened attentively. + +“Pietro, you are a fool,” he said, at length. + +“Why am I a fool?” asked Pietro, sullenly. + +“Because you sought Filippo where he is not.” + +“Where is he?” + +“He did not stop in Jersey City. He went farther. He knew that you were +on his track. Did you ask at the station if such a boy bought a ticket?” + +“I did not think of it.” + +“Then you were a fool.” + +“What do you want me to do?” + +“To-morrow you must go to Newark. That is the first large town. I must +have Filippo back.” + +“I will go,” said Pietro, briefly. + +He was mortified at the name applied to him by his uncle, as well as by +the fact of Phil’s having thus far outwitted him. He secretly determined +that when he did get him into his power he would revenge himself for all +the trouble to which he had been put, and there was little doubt that he +would keep his word. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +PIETRO’S DISAPPOINTMENT + +Though Phil had not taken in much money during the first day of +independence, he had more than paid his expenses. He started on the +second day with a good breakfast, and good spirits. He determined to +walk back to Newark, where he might expect to collect more money than in +the suburbs. If he should meet Pietro he determined not to yield without +a struggle. But he felt better now than at first, and less afraid of the +padrone. + +Nine o’clock found him again in Newark. He soon came to a halt, and +began to play. A few paused to listen, but their interest in music did +not extend so far as to affect their pockets. Phil passed around his hat +in vain. He found himself likely to go unrewarded for his labors. But +just then he noticed a carriage with open door, waiting in front of +a fashionable dry-goods store. Two ladies had just come out and taken +their seats preparatory to driving off, when Phil stepped up bareheaded +and held his cap. He was an unusually attractive boy, and as he smiled +one of the ladies, who was particularly fond of children, noticed him. + +“What a handsome boy!” she said to her companion. + +“Some pennies for music,” said Phil. + +“How old are you?” asked the lady. + +“Twelve years.” + +“Just the age of my Johnny. If I give you some money what will you do +with it?” + +“I will buy dinner,” said Phil. + +“I never give to vagrants,” said the second lady, a spinster of +uncertain age, who did not share her niece’s partiality for children. + +“It isn’t his fault if he is a vagrant, Aunt Maria,” said the younger +lady. + +“I have no doubt he is a thief,” continued Aunt Maria, with acerbity. + +“I am not a thief,” said Phil, indignantly, for he understood very well +the imputation, and he replaced his cap on his head. + +“I don’t believe you are,” said the first lady; “here, take this,” and +she put in his hand twenty-five cents. + +“Thank you, signora,” said Phil, with a grateful smile. + +“That money is thrown away,” said the elderly lady; “you are very +indiscriminate in your charity, Eleanor.” + +“It is better to give too much than too little, Aunt Maria, isn’t it?” + +“You shouldn’t give to unworthy objects.” + +“How do you know this boy is an unworthy object?” + +“He is a young vagrant.” + +“Can he help it? It is the way he makes his living.” + +The discussion continued, but Phil did not stop to hear it. He had +received more than he expected, and now felt ready to continue his +business. One thing was fortunate, and relieved him from the anxiety +which he had formerly labored under. He was not obliged to obtain a +certain sum in order to escape a beating at night. He had no master +to account to. He was his own employer, as long as he kept out of the +clutches of the padrone. + +Phil continued to roam about the streets very much after the old +fashion, playing here and there as he thought it expedient. By noon he +had picked up seventy-five cents, and felt very well satisfied with his +success. But if, as we are told, the hour that is darkest is just before +day, it also happens sometimes that danger lies in wait for prosperity, +and danger menaced our young hero, though he did not know it. To explain +this, we must go back a little. + +When Pietro prepared to leave the lodging-house in the morning, the +padrone called loudly to him. + +“Pietro,” said he, “you must find Filippo today.” + +“Where shall I go?” asked Pietro. + +“Go to Newark. Filippo went there, no doubt, while you, stupid that +you are, went looking for him in Jersey City. You have been in Newark +before?” + +“Yes, signore padrone.” + +“Very good; then you need no directions.” + +“If I do not find him in Newark, where shall I go?” + +“He is in Newark,” said the padrone, confidently. “He will not leave +it.” + +He judged that Phil would consider himself safe there, and would prefer +to remain in a city rather than go into the country. + +“I will do my best,” said Pietro. + +“I expect you to bring him back to-night.” + +“I should like to do so,” said Pietro, and he spoke the truth. Apart +from his natural tendency to play the tyrant over smaller boys, he felt +a personal grudge against Phil for eluding him the day before, and so +subjecting him to the trouble of another day’s pursuit, besides the +mortification of incurring a reprimand from his uncle. Never did agent +accept a commission more readily than Pietro accepted that of catching +and bringing Filippo to the padrone. + +Leaving the lodging-house he walked down to the ferry at the foot +of Cortlandt Street, and took the first train for Newark. It was ten +o’clock before he reached the city. He had nothing in particular to +guide him, but made up his mind to wander about all day, inquiring from +time to time if anyone had seen his little brother, describing Phil. +After a while his inquiries were answered in the affirmative, and he +gradually got on the track of our hero. + +At twelve o’clock Phil went into a restaurant, and invested thirty cents +in a dinner. As the prices were low, he obtained for this sum all he +desired. Ten minutes afterward, as he was walking leisurely along with +that feeling of tranquil enjoyment which a full stomach is apt to give, +Pietro turned the corner behind him. No sooner did the organ-grinder +catch sight of his prey, than a fierce joy lighted up his eyes, and he +quickened his pace. + +“Ah, scelerato, I have you now,” he exclaimed to himself. “To-night you +shall feel the stick.” + +But opportunely for himself Phil looked behind him. When he saw Pietro +at but a few rods’ distance his heart stood still with sudden fright, +and for an instant his feet were rooted to the ground. Then the thought +of escape came to him, and he began to run, not too soon. + +“Stop!” called out Pietro. “Stop, or I will kill you!” + +But Phil did not comprehend the advantage of surrendering himself to +Pietro. He understood too well how he would be treated, if he returned +a prisoner. Instead of obeying the call, he only sped on the faster. Now +between the pursuer and the pursued there was a difference of six years, +Pietro being eighteen, while Phil was but twelve. This, of course, was +in Pietro’s favor. On the other hand, the pursuer was encumbered by a +hand-organ, which retarded his progress, while Phil had only a violin, +which did not delay him at all. This made their speed about equal, +and gave Phil a chance to escape, unless he should meet with some +interruption. + +“Stop!” called Pietro, furiously, beginning to realize that the victory +was not yet won. + +Phil looked over his shoulder, and, seeing that Pietro was no nearer, +took fresh courage. He darted round a corner, with his pursuer half a +dozen rods behind him. They were not in the most frequented parts of +the city, but in a quarter occupied by two-story wooden houses. Seeing +a front door open, Phil, with a sudden impulse, ran hastily in, closing +the door behind him. + +A woman with her sleeves rolled up, who appeared to have taken her arms +from the tub, hearing his step, came out from the back room. + +“What do ye want?” she demanded, suspiciously. + +“Save me!” cried Phil, out of breath. “Someone is chasing me. He is bad. +He will beat me.” + +The woman’s sympathies were quickly enlisted. She had a warm heart, and +was always ready to give aid to the oppressed. + +“Whist, darlint, run upstairs, and hide under the bed. I’ll send him off +wid a flea in his ear, whoever he is.” + +Phil was quick to take the hint. He ran upstairs, and concealed himself +as directed. While he was doing it, the lower door, which he had shut, +was opened by Pietro. He was about to rush into the house, but the +muscular form of Phil’s friend stood in his way. + +“Out wid ye!” said she, flourishing a broom, which she had snatched up. +“Is that the way you inter a dacint woman’s house, ye spalpeen!” + +“I want my brother,” said Pietro, drawing back a little before the +amazon who disputed his passage. + +“Go and find him, thin!” said Bridget McGuire, “and kape out of my +house.” + +“But he is here,” said Pietro, angrily; “I saw him come in.” + +“Then, one of the family is enough,” said Bridget. “I don’t want +another. Lave here wid you!” + +“Give me my brother, then!” said Pietro, provoked. + +“I don’t know anything of your brother. If he looks like you, he’s a +beauty, sure,” returned Mrs. McGuire. + +“Will you let me look for him?” + +“Faith and I won’t. You may call him if you plase.” + +Pietro knew that this would do very little good, but there seemed +nothing else to do. + +“Filippo!” he called; “come here. The padrone has sent for you.” + +“What was ye sayin’?” demanded Bridget not comprehending the Italian. + +“I told my brother to come.” + +“Then you can go out and wait for him,” said she. “I don’t want you in +the house.” + +Pietro was very angry. He suspected that Phil was in the rear room, and +was anxious to search for him. But Bridget McGuire was in the way--no +light, delicate woman, but at least forty pounds heavier than Pietro. +Moreover, she was armed with a broom, and seemed quite ready to use it. +Phil was fortunate in obtaining so able a protector. Pietro looked at +her, and had a vague thought of running by her, and dragging Phil out if +he found him. But Bridget was planted so squarely in his path that this +course did not seem very practicable. + +“Will you give me my brother?” demanded Pietro, forced to use words +where he would willingly have used blows. + +“I haven’t got your brother.” + +“He is in this house.” + +“Thin he may stay here, but you shan’t,” said Bridget, and she made a +sudden demonstration with the broom, of so threatening a character +that Pietro hastily backed out of the house, and the door was instantly +bolted in his face. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE SIEGE + +When the enemy had fairly been driven out of the house Mrs. McGuire +went upstairs in search of Phil. Our hero had come out from his place of +concealment, and stood at the window. + +“Where is Pietro?” he asked, as his hostess appeared in the chamber. + +“I druv him out of the house,” said Bridget, triumphantly. + +“Then he won’t come up here?” interrogated Phil. + +“It’s I that would like to see him thry it,” said Mrs. McGuire, shaking +her head in a very positive manner, “I’d break my broom over his back +first.” + +Phil breathed freer. He saw that he was rescued from immediate danger. + +“Where is he now?” + +“He’s outside watching for you. He’ll have to wait till you come out.” + +“May I stay here till he goes?” + +“Sure, and you may,” said the warm-hearted Irishwoman. “You’re as +welcome as flowers in May. Are you hungry?” + +“No, thank you,” said Phil. “I have eaten my dinner.” + +“Won’t you try a bit of bread and cold mate now?” she asked, hospitably. + +“You are very kind,” said Phil, gratefully, “but I am not hungry. I only +want to get away from Pietro.” + +“Is that the haythen’s name? Sure I niver heard it before.” + +“It is Peter in English.” + +“And has he got the name of the blessed St. Peter, thin? Sure, St. Peter +would be mightily ashamed of him. And is he your brother, do you say?” + +“No,” said Phil. + +“He said he was; but I thought it was a wicked lie when he said it. He’s +too bad, sure, to be a brother of yours. But I must go down to my work. +My clothes are in the tub, and the water will get cold.” + +“Will you be kind enough to tell me when he goes away?” asked Phil. + +“Sure I will. Rest aisy, darlint. He shan’t get hold of you.” + +Pietro’s disappointment may be imagined when he found that the victim +whom he had already considered in his grasp was snatched from him in +the very moment of his triumph. He felt nearly as much incensed at Mrs. +McGuire as at Phil, but against the former he had no remedy. Over the +stalwart Irishwoman neither he nor the padrone had any jurisdiction, +and he was compelled to own himself ignominiously repulsed and baffled. +Still all was not lost. Phil must come out of the house some time, and +when he did he would capture him. When that happy moment arrived he +resolved to inflict a little punishment on our hero on his own account, +in anticipation of that which awaited him from his uncle, the padrone. +He therefore took his position in front of the house, and maintained a +careful watch, that Phil might not escape unobserved. + +So half an hour passed. He could hear no noise inside the house, nor +did Phil show himself at any of the windows. Pietro was disturbed by a +sudden suspicion. What if, while he was watching, Phil had escaped by +the back door, and was already at a distance! + +This would be quite possible, for as he stood he could only watch the +front of the house. The rear was hidden from his view. Made uneasy by +this thought, he shifted his ground, and crept stealthily round on the +side, in the hope of catching a view of Phil, or perhaps hearing some +conversation between him and his Amazonian protector by which he might +set at rest his suddenly formed suspicions. + +He was wrong, however. Phil was still upstairs. He was disposed to be +cautious, and did not mean to leave his present place of security until +he should be apprised by his hostess that Pietro had gone. + +Bridget McGuire kept on with her washing. She had been once to the front +room, and, looking through the blinds, had ascertained that Pietro was +still there. + +“He’ll have to wait long enough,” she said to herself, “the haythen! +It’s hard he’ll find it to get the better of Bridget McGuire.” + +She was still at her tub when through the opposite window on the side +of the house she caught sight of Pietro creeping stealthily along, as we +have described. + +“I’ll be even wid him,” said Bridget to herself exultingly. “I’ll tache +him to prowl around my house.” + +She took from her sink near by a large, long-handled tin dipper, and +filled it full of warm suds from the tub. Then stealing to the window, +she opened it suddenly, and as Pietro looked up, suddenly launched the +contents in his face, calling forth a volley of imprecations, which I +would rather not transfer to my page. Being in Italian, Bridget did not +exactly understand their meaning, but guessed it. + +“Is it there ye are?” she said, in affected surprise. + +“Why did you do that?” demanded Pietro, finding enough English to +express his indignation. + +“Why did I do it?” repeated Bridget. “How would I know that you were +crapin’ under my windy? It serves ye right, anyhow. I don’t want you +here.” + +“Send out my brother, then,” said Pietro. + +“There’s no brother of yours inside,” said Mrs. McGuire. + +“It’s a lie!” said Pietro, angrily stamping his foot. + +“Do you want it ag’in?” asked Bridget, filling her dipper once more +from the tub, causing Pietro to withdraw hastily to a greater distance. +“Don’t you tell Bridget McGuire that she lies.” + +“My brother is in the house,” reiterated Pietro, doggedly. + +“He is no brother of yours--he says so.” + +“He lies,” said Pietro. + +“Shure and it’s somebody else lies, I’m thinkin’,” said Bridget. + +“Is he in the house?” demanded Pietro, finding it difficult to argue +with Phil’s protector. + +“I don’t see him,” said Bridget, shrewdly, turning and glancing round +the room. + +“I’ll call the police,” said Pietro, trying to intimidate his adversary. + +“I wish you would,” she answered, promptly. “It would save me the +trouble. I’ll make a charge against you for thryin’ to break into my +house; maybe you want to stale something.” + +Pietro was getting disgusted. Mrs. McGuire proved more unmanageable than +he anticipated. It was tantalizing to think that Phil was so near him, +and yet out of his reach. He anathematized Phil’s protector in his +heart, and I am afraid it would have gone hard with her if he could have +had his wishes fulfilled. He was not troubled to think what next to +say, for Bridget suddenly terminated the interview by shutting down the +window with the remark: “Go away from here! I don’t want you lookin’ in +at my windy.” + +Pietro did not, however, go away immediately. He moved a little further +to the rear, having a suspicion that Phil might escape from the door at +the back. While he was watching here, he suddenly heard the front door +open, and shut with a loud sound. He ran to the front, thinking that +Phil might be taking flight from the street door, but it was only a +ruse of Mrs. McGuire, who rather enjoyed tantalizing Pietro. He looked +carefully up and down the street, but, seeing nothing of Phil, he +concluded he must still be inside. He therefore resumed his watch, but +in some perplexity as to where he ought to stand, in order to watch both +front and rear. Phil occasionally looked guardedly from the window +in the second story, and saw his enemy, but knew that as long as he +remained indoors he was safe. It was not very agreeable remaining in +the chamber alone, but it was a great deal better than falling into +the clutches of Pietro, and he felt fortunate to have found so secure a +place of refuge. + +Pietro finally posted himself at the side of the house, where he could +command a view of both front and rear, and there maintained his +stand nearly underneath the window at which his intended prisoner was +standing. + +As Phil was watching him, suddenly he heard steps, and Bridget McGuire +entered the chamber. She bore in her hand the same tin dipper before +noticed, filled with steaming hot water. Phil regarded her with some +surprise. + +“Would you like to see some fun now?” she asked, her face covered by a +broad smile. + +“Yes,” said Phil. + +“Open the windy, aisy, so he won’t hear.” + +Phil obeyed directions, and managed not to attract the attention of his +besieger below, who chanced at the moment to be looking toward the door +in the rear. + +“Now,” said Bridget, “take this dipper and give him the binifit of it.” + +“Don’t let him see you do it,” cautioned his protector. + +Phil took the idea and the dipper at once. + +Phil, holding the dipper carefully, discharged the contents with such +good aim that they drenched the watching Pietro. The water being pretty +hot, a howl of pain and rage rose from below, and Pietro danced about +frantically. Looking up, he saw no one, for Phil had followed directions +and drawn his head in immediately. But Mrs. McGuire, less cautious, +looked out directly afterward. + +“Will ye go now, or will ye stand jist where I throw the hot water?” + +In reply, Pietro indulged in some rather emphatic language, but being +in the Italian language, in which he was more fluent, it fell unregarded +upon the ears of Mrs. McGuire. + +“I told you to go,” she said. “I’ve got some more wather inside.” + +Pietro stepped back in alarm. He had no disposition to take another warm +shower bath, and he had found out to his cost that Bridget McGuire was +not a timid woman, or easily frightened. + +But he had not yet abandoned the siege. He shifted his ground to the +front of the house, and took a position commanding a view of the front +door. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE SIEGE IS RAISED + +Though Phil was the besieged party, his position was decidedly +preferable to that of Pietro. The afternoon was passing, and he was +earning nothing. He finally uncovered his organ and began to play. A few +gathered around him, but they were of that class with whom money is not +plenty. So after a while, finding no pennies forthcoming, he stopped +suddenly, but did not move on, as his auditors expected him to. He still +kept his eyes fixed on Mrs. McGuire’s dwelling. He did this so long as +to attract observation. + +“You’ll know the house next time, mister,” said a sharp boy. + +Pietro was about to answer angrily, when a thought struck him. + +“Will you do something for me?” he asked. + +“How much?” inquired the boy, suggestively. + +“Five cents,” answered Pietro, understanding his meaning. + +“It isn’t much,” said the boy, reflectively. “Tell me what you want.” + +Though Pietro was not much of a master of English, he contrived to make +the boy understand that he was to go round to the back door and tell +Mrs. McGuire that he, Pietro, was gone. He intended to hide close +by, and when Phil came out, as he hoped, on the strength of his +disappearance, he would descend upon him and bear him off triumphantly. + +Armed with these instructions, the boy went round to the back door and +knocked. + +Thinking it might be Phil’s enemy, Mrs. McGuire went to the door, +holding in one hand a dipper of hot suds, ready to use in case of +emergency. + +“Well, what do you want?” she asked, abruptly, seeing that it was a boy. + +“He’s gone,” said the boy. + +“Who’s gone?” + +“The man with the hand-organ, ma’am.” + +“And what for do I care?” demanded Bridget, suspiciously. + +This was a question the boy could not answer. In fact, he wondered +himself why such a message should have been sent. He could only look at +her in silence. + +“Who told you to tell the man was gone?” asked Bridget, with a +shrewdness worthy of a practitioner at the bar. + +“The Italian told me.” + +“Did he?” repeated Bridget, who saw into the trick at once. “He’s very +kind.” + +“He didn’t want you to know he told me,” said the boy, remembering his +instructions when it was too late. + +Mrs. McGuire nodded her head intelligently. + +“True for you,” said she. “What did he pay you for tellin’ me?” + +“Five cents.” + +“Thin it’s five cints lost. Do you want to earn another five cints?” + +“Yes,” said the boy, promptly. + +“Thin do what I tell you.” + +“What is it?” + +“Come in and I’ll tell you.” + +The boy having entered, Mrs. McGuire led him to the front door. + +“Now,” said she, “when I open the door, run as fast as you can. The man +that sint you will think it is another boy, and will run after you. Do +ye mind?” + +The young messenger began to see the joke, and was quite willing to help +carry it out. But even the prospective fun did not make him forgetful of +his promised recompense. + +“Where’s the five cents?” he asked. + +“Here,” said Bridget, and diving into the depths of a capacious pocket, +she drew out five pennies. + +“That’s all right,” said the boy. “Now, open the door.” + +Bridget took care to make a noise in opening the door, and, as it +opened, she said in a loud and exultant voice, “You’re all safe now; the +man’s gone.” + +“Now run,” she said, in a lower voice. + +The boy dashed out of the doorway, but Mrs. McGuire remained standing +there. She was not much surprised to see Pietro run out from the +other side of the house, and prepare to chase the runaway. But quickly +perceiving that he was mistaken, he checked his steps, and turning, saw +Mrs. McGuire with a triumphant smile on her face. + +“Why don’t you run?” she said. “You can catch him.” + +“It isn’t my brother,” he answered, sullenly. + +“I thought you was gone,” she said. + +“I am waiting for my brother.” + +“Thin you’ll have to wait. You wanted to chate me, you haythen! But +Bridget McGuire ain’t to be took in by such as you. You’d better lave +before my man comes home from his work, or he’ll give you lave of +absence wid a kick.” + +Without waiting for an answer, Bridget shut the door, and bolted +it--leaving her enemy routed at all points. + +In fact Pietro began to lose courage. He saw that he had a determined +foe to contend with. He had been foiled thus far in every effort to +obtain possession of Phil. But the more difficult the enterprise seemed, +the more anxious he became to carry it out successfully. He knew that +the padrone would not give him a very cordial reception if he returned +without Phil, especially as he would be compelled to admit that he had +seen him, and had nevertheless failed to secure him. His uncle would +not be able to appreciate the obstacles he had encountered, but would +consider him in fault. For this reason he did not like to give up +the siege, though he saw little hopes of accomplishing his object. At +length, however, he was obliged to raise the siege, but from a cause +with which neither Phil nor his defender had anything to do. + +The sky, which had till this time been clear, suddenly darkened. In ten +minutes rain began to fall in large drops. A sudden shower, unusual +at this time of the year, came up, and pedestrians everywhere, caught +without umbrellas, fled panic-stricken to the nearest shelter. Twice +before, as we know, Pietro had suffered from a shower of warm water. +This, though colder, was even more formidable. Vanquished by the forces +of nature, Pietro shouldered his instrument and fled incontinently. Phil +might come out now, if he chose. His enemy had deserted his post, and +the coast was clear. + +“That’ll make the haythen lave,” thought Mrs. McGuire, who, though sorry +to see the rain on account of her washing, exulted in the fact that +Pietro was caught out in it. + +She went to the front door and looked out. Looking up the street, she +just caught a glimpse of the organ in rapid retreat. She now unbolted +the door, the danger being at an end, and went up to acquaint Phil with +the good news. + +“You may come down now,” she said. + +“Is he gone?” inquired Phil. + +“Shure he’s runnin’ up the street as fast as his legs can carry him.” + +“Thank you for saving me from him,” said, Phil, with a great sense of +relief at the flight of his enemy. + +“Whisht now; I don’t nade any thanks. Come down by the fire now.” + +So Phil went down, and Bridget, on hospitable thoughts intent, drew her +only rocking-chair near the stove, and forced Phil to sit down in it. +Then she told him, with evident enjoyment, of the trick which Pietro had +tried to play on her, and how he had failed. + +“He couldn’t chate me, the haythen!” she concluded. “I was too smart for +the likes of him, anyhow. Where do you live when you are at home?” + +“I have no home now,” said Phil, with tears in his eyes. + +“And have you no father and mother?” + +“Yes,” said Phil. “They live in Italy.” + +“And why did they let you go so far away?” + +“They were poor, and the padrone offered them money,” answered Phil, +forced to answer, though the subject was an unpleasant one. + +“And did they know he was a bad man and would bate you?” + +“I don’t think they knew,” said Phil, with hesitation. “My mother did +not know.” + +“I’ve got three childer myself,” said Bridget; “they’ll get wet comin’ +home from school, the darlints--but I wouldn’t let them go with any man +to a far country, if he’d give me all the gowld in the world. And where +does that man live that trates you so bad?” + +“In New York.” + +“And does Peter--or whatever the haythen’s name is--live there too?” + +“Yes, Pietro lives there. The padrone is his uncle, and treats him +better than the rest of us. He sent him after me to bring me back.” + +“And what is your name? Is it Peter, like his?” + +“No; my name is Filippo.” + +“It’s a quare name.” + +“American boys call me Phil.” + +“That’s better. It’s a Christian name, and the other isn’t. Before I +married my man I lived five years at Mrs. Robertson’s, and she had a boy +they called Phil. His whole name was Philip.” + +“That’s my name in English.” + +“Then why don’t you call it so, instead of Philip-O? What good is the O, +anyhow? In my country they put the O before the name, instead of to the +tail-end of it. My mother was an O’Connor. But it’s likely ivery country +has its own ways.” + +Phil knew very little of Ireland, and did not fully understand Mrs. +McGuire’s philosophical remarks. Otherwise they might have amused him, +as they may possibly amuse my readers. + +I cannot undertake to chronicle the conversation that took place between +Phil and his hostess. She made numerous inquiries, to some of which he +was able to give satisfactory replies, to others not. But in half +an hour there was an interruption, and a noisy one. Three stout, +freckled-faced children ran in at the back door, dripping as if they had +just emerged from a shower-bath. Phil moved aside to let them approach +the stove. + +Forthwith Mrs. McGuire was engaged in motherly care, removing a part +of the wet clothing, and lamenting for the state in which her sturdy +offspring had returned. But presently order was restored, and the bustle +was succeeded by quiet. + +“Play us a tune,” said Pat, the oldest. + +Phil complied with the request, and played tune after tune, to the great +delight of the children, as well as of Mrs. McGuire herself. The result +was that when, shortly after, on the storm subsiding, Phil proposed +to go, the children clamored to have him stay, and he received such +a cordial invitation to stop till the next morning that he accepted, +nothing loath. So till the next morning our young hero is provided for. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A PITCHED BATTLE + +Has my youthful reader ever seen a dog slinking home with downcast +look and tall between his legs? It was with very much the same air +that Pietro in the evening entered the presence of the padrone. He had +received a mortifying defeat, and now he had before him the difficult +task of acknowledging it. + +“Well, Pietro,” said the padrone, harshly, “where is Filippo?” + +“He is not with me,” answered Pietro, in an embarrassed manner. + +“Didn’t you see him then?” demanded his uncle, hastily. + +For an instant Pietro was inclined to reply in the negative, knowing +that the censure he would incur would be less. But Phil might yet be +taken--he probably would be, sooner or later, Pietro thought--and then +his falsehood would be found out, and he would in consequence lose the +confidence of the padrone. So, difficult though it was, he thought it +politic to tell the truth. + +“Si, signore, I saw him,” said he. + +“Then why didn’t you drag him home?” demanded his uncle, with contracted +brow. “Didn’t I tell you to bring him home?” + +“Si, signore, but I could not.” + +“Are you not so strong as he, then?” asked the padrone, with a sneer. +“Is a boy of twelve more than a match for you, who are six years older?” + +“I could kill him with my little finger,” said Pietro, stung by this +taunt, and for the moment he looked as if he would like to do it. + +“Then you didn’t want to bring him? Come, you are not too old for the +stick yet.” + +Pietro glowed beneath his dark skin with anger and shame when these +words were addressed to him. He would not have cared so much had they +been alone, but some of the younger boys were present, and it shamed him +to be threatened in their presence. + +“I will tell you how it happened,” he said, suppressing his anger as +well as he could, “and you will see that I was not in fault.” + +“Speak on, then,” said his uncle; but his tone was cold and incredulous. + +Pietro told the story, as we know it. It will not be necessary to repeat +it. When he had finished, his uncle said, with a sneer, “So you were +afraid of a woman. I am ashamed of you.” + +“What could I do?” pleaded Pietro. + +“What could you do?” repeated the padrone, furiously; “you could +push her aside, run into the house, and secure the boy. You are a +coward--afraid of a woman!” + +“It was her house,” said Pietro. “She would call the police.” + +“So could you. You could say it was your brother you sought. There was +no difficulty. Do you think Filippo is there yet?” + +“I do not know.” + +“To-morrow I will go with you myself,” said the padrone. “I see I cannot +trust you alone. You shall show me the house, and I will take the boy.” + +Pietro was glad to hear this. It shifted the responsibility from his +shoulders, and he was privately convinced that Mrs. McGuire would prove +a more formidable antagonist than the padrone imagined. Whichever way +it turned out, he would experience a feeling of satisfaction. If the +padrone got worsted, it would show that he, Pietro, need not be ashamed +of his defeat. If Mrs. McGuire had to surrender at discretion, he would +rejoice in her discomfiture. So, in spite of his reprimand, he went to +bed with better spirits than he came home. + +The next morning Pietro and the padrone proceeded to Newark, as +proposed. Arrived there, the former led his uncle at once to the house +of the redoubtable Mrs. McGuire. It will be necessary for us to precede +them. + +Patrick McGuire was a laborer, and for some months past had had steady +work. But, as luck would have it, work ceased for him on the day in +which his wife had proved so powerful a protector to Phil. When he came +home at night he announced this. + +“Niver mind, Pat,” said Mrs. McGuire, who was sanguine and hopeful, +“we’ll live somehow. I’ve got a bit of money upstairs, and I’ll earn +something by washing. We won’t starve.” + +“I’ll get work ag’in soon, maybe,” said Pat, encouraged. + +“Shure you will.” + +“And if I don’t, I’ll help you wash,” said her husband, humorously. + +“Shure you’d spoil the clothes,” said Bridget, laughing. + +In the evening Phil played, and they had a merry time. Mr. McGuire quite +forgot that he was out of work, and, seizing his wife by the waist, +danced around the kitchen, to the great delight of the children. + +The next morning Phil thanked Mrs. McGuire for her kindness, and +prepared to go away. + +“Why will you go?” asked Bridget, hospitably. “Shure we have room +for you. You can pay us a little for your atin’, and sleep with the +childer.” + +“I should like it,” said Phil, “but----” + +“But what?” + +“Pietro will come for me.” + +“And if he does, my Pat will kick him out of doors.” + +Mr. McGuire was six feet in height, and powerfully made. There was no +doubt he could do it if he had the opportunity. But Phil knew that he +must go out into the streets and then Pietro might waylay him when he +had no protector at hand. He explained his difficulty to Mrs. McGuire, +and she proposed that he should remain close at hand all the forenoon; +near enough to fly to the house as a refuge, if needful. If Pietro did +not appear in that time, he probably would not at all. + +Phil agreed to this plan, and accordingly began to play and sing in the +neighborhood, keeping a watchful lookout for the enemy. His earnings +were small, for the neighborhood was poor. Still, he picked up a few +pennies, and his store was increased by a twenty-five cent gift from a +passing gentleman. He had just commenced a new tune, being at that time +ten rods from the house, when his watchful eyes detected the approach of +Pietro, and, more formidable still, the padrone. + +He did not stop to finish his tune, but took to his heels. At that +moment the padrone saw him. With a cry of exultation, he started in +pursuit, and Pietro with him. He thought Phil already in his grasp. + +Phil dashed breathless into the kitchen, where Mrs. McGuire was ironing. + +“What’s the matter?” she asked. + +“The padrone--Pietro and the padrone!” exclaimed Phil, pale with +affright. + +Mrs. McGuire took in the situation at once. + +“Run upstairs,” she said. “Pat’s up there on the bed. He will see they +won’t take you.” + +Phil sprang upstairs two steps at a time, and dashed into the chamber. +Mr. McGuire was lying on the outside of the bed, peacefully smoking a +clay pipe. + +“What’s the matther?” he asked, repeating his wife’s question. + +“They have come for me,” said Phil. + +“Have they?” said Pat. “Then they’ll go back, I’m thinkin’. Where are +they?” + +But there was no need of a reply, as their voices were already audible +from below, talking with Mrs. McGuire. The distance was so trifling that +they had seen Phil enter the house, and the padrone, having a contempt +for the physical powers of woman, followed boldly. + +They met Mrs. McGuire at the door. + +“What do you want?” she demanded. + +“The boy,” said the padrone. “I saw him come in here.” + +“Did ye? Your eyes is sharp thin.” + +She stood directly in the passage, so that neither could enter without +brushing her aside. + +“Send him out,” said the padrone. + +“Faith, and I won’t,” said Bridget. “He shall stay here as long as he +likes.” + +“I will come in and take him,” said the padrone, furiously. + +“I wouldn’t advise ye to thry it,” said Mrs. McGuire, coolly. + +“Move aside, woman, or I will make you,” said the Italian, angrily. + +“I’ll stay where I am. Shure, it’s my own house, and I have a right to +do it.” + +“Pietro,” said the padrone, with sudden thought, “he may escape from the +front door. Go round and watch it.” + +By his sign Bridget guessed what he said, though it was spoken in +Italian. + +“He won’t run away,” she said. “I’ll tell you where he is, if you want +to know.” + +“Where?” asked the padrone, eagerly. + +“He’s upstairs, thin.” + +The padrone would not be restrained any longer. He made a rush forward, +and, pushing Mrs. McGuire aside, sprang up the stairs. He would have +found greater difficulty in doing this, but Bridget, knowing her husband +was upstairs, made little resistance, and contented herself, after +the padrone had passed, with intercepting Pietro, and clutching him +vigorously by the hair, to his great discomfort, screaming “Murther!” at +the top of her lungs. + +The padrone heard the cry, but in his impetuosity he did not heed it. He +expected to gain an easy victory over Phil, whom he supposed to be alone +in the chamber. He sprang toward him, but had barely seized him by the +arm, when the gigantic form of the Irishman appeared, and the padrone +found himself in his powerful grasp. + +“What business have ye here, you bloody villain?” demanded Pat; +“breakin’ into an honest man’s house, without lave or license. I’ll +teach you manners, you baste!” + +“Give me the boy!” gasped the padrone. + +“You can’t have him, thin!” said Pat “You want to bate him, you +murderin’ ould villain!” + +“I’ll have you arrested,” said the padrone, furiously, writhing vainly +to get himself free. He was almost beside himself that Phil should be +the witness of his humiliation. + +“Will you, thin?” demanded Pat. “Thin the sooner you do it the betther. +Open the window, Phil!” + +Phil obeyed, not knowing why the request was made. He was soon +enlightened. The Irishman seized the padrone, and, lifting him from the +floor, carried him to the window, despite his struggles, and, thrusting +him out, let him drop. It was only the second story, and there was no +danger of serious injury. The padrone picked himself up, only to meet +with another disaster. A passing policeman had heard Mrs. McGuire’s +cries, and on hearing her account had arrested Pietro, and was just in +time to arrest the padrone also, on the charge of forcibly entering the +house. As the guardian of the peace marched off with Pietro on one +side and the padrone on the other, Mrs. McGuire sat down on a chair and +laughed till she cried. + +“Shure, they won’t come for you again in a hurry, Phil, darlint!” she +said. “They’ve got all they want, I’m thinkin’.” + +I may add that the pair were confined in the station-house over night, +and the next day were brought before a justice, reprimanded and fined. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE DEATH OF GIACOMO + +Great was the astonishment at the Italian lodging-house that night when +neither the padrone nor Pietro made his appearance. Great was the joy, +too, for the nightly punishments were also necessarily omitted, and the +boys had no one to pay their money to. There was another circumstance +not so agreeable. All the provisions were locked up, and there was no +supper for the hungry children. Finally, at half-past eleven, three +boys, bolder than the rest, went out, and at last succeeded in obtaining +some bread and crackers at an oyster saloon, in sufficient quantities to +supply all their comrades. After eating heartily they went to bed, and +for one night the establishment ran itself much more satisfactorily to +the boys than if the padrone had been present. + +The next morning the boys went out as usual, having again bought their +breakfast and dispersed themselves about the city and vicinity, heartily +hoping that this state of things might continue. But it was too good +to last. When they returned at evening they found their old enemy in +command. He looked more ill-tempered and sour than ever, but gave no +explanation of his and Pietro’s absence, except to say that he had been +out of the city on business. He called for the boys’ earnings of the +day previous, but to their surprise made no inquiries about how they had +supplied themselves with supper or breakfast. He felt that his influence +over the boys, and the terror which he delighted to inspire in them, +would be lessened if they should learn that he had been arrested and +punished. The boys were accustomed to look upon him as possessed of +absolute power over them, and almost regarded him as above law. + +Pietro, too, was silent, partly for the same reasons which influenced +the padrone, partly because he was afraid of offending his uncle. + +Meanwhile poor Giacomo remained sick. If he had been as robust and +strong as Phil, he would have recovered, but he was naturally delicate, +and exposure and insufficient food had done their work only too well. + +Four days afterward (to advance the story a little) one of the boys came +to the padrone in the morning, saying: “Signore padrone, Giacomo is much +worse. I think he is going to die.” + +“Nonsense!” said the padrone, angrily. “He is only pretending to be +sick, so that he need not work. I have lost enough by him already.” + +Nevertheless he went to the little boy’s bedside. + +Giacomo was breathing faintly. His face was painfully thin, his eyes +preternaturally bright. He spoke faintly, but his mind seemed to be +wandering. + +“Where is Filippo?” he said. “I want to see Filippo.” + +In this wish the padrone heartily concurred. He, too, would have been +glad to see Filippo, but the pleasure would not have been mutual. + +“Why do you want to see Filippo?” he demanded, in his customary harsh +tone. + +Giacomo heard and answered, though unconscious who spoke to him. + +“I want to kiss him before I die,” he said. + +“What makes you think you are going to die?” said the tyrant, struck by +the boy’s appearance. + +“I am so weak,” murmured Giacomo. “Stoop down, Filippo. I want to tell +you something in your ear.” + +Moved by curiosity rather than humanity, the padrone stooped over, and +Giacomo whispered: + +“When you go back to Italy, dear Filippo, go and tell my mother how I +died. Tell her not to let my father sell my little brother to a padrone, +or he may die far away, as I am dying. Promise me, Filippo.” + +There was no answer. The padrone did indeed feel a slight emotion of +pity, but it was, unhappily, transient. Giacomo did not observe that the +question was not answered. + +“Kiss me, Filippo,” said the dying boy. + +One of the boys who stood nearby, with tears in his eyes, bent over and +kissed him. + +Giacomo smiled. He thought it was Filippo. With that smile on his face, +he gave one quick gasp and died--a victim of the padrone’s tyranny and +his father’s cupidity.(1) + + (1) It is the testimony of an eminent Neapolitan physician + (I quote from Signor Casali, editor of L’Eco d’Italia) that + of one hundred Italian children who are sold by their + parents into this white slavery, but twenty ever return + home; thirty grow up and adopt various occupations abroad, + and fifty succumb to maladies produced by privation and + exposure. + +Death came to Giacomo as a friend. No longer could he be forced out into +the streets to suffer cold and fatigue, and at night inhuman treatment +and abuse. His slavery was at an end. + +We go back now to Phil. Though he and his friends had again gained a +victory over Pietro and the padrone, he thought it would not be prudent +to remain in Newark any longer. He knew the revengeful spirit of his +tyrants, and dreaded the chance of again falling into their hands. He +must, of course, be exposed to the risk of capture while plying his +vocation in the public streets. Therefore he resisted the invitation of +his warm-hearted protectors to make his home with them, and decided to +wander farther away from New York. + +The next day, therefore, he went to the railway station and bought a +ticket for a place ten miles further on. This he decided would be far +enough to be safe. + +Getting out of the train, he found himself in a village of moderate +size. Phil looked around him with interest. He had the fondness, natural +to his age, for seeing new places. He soon came to a schoolhouse. It was +only a quarter of nine, and some of the boys were playing outside. Phil +leaned against a tree and looked on. + +Though he was at an age when boys enjoy play better than work or study, +he had no opportunity to join in their games. + +One of the boys, observing him, came up and said frankly, “Do you want +to play with us?” + +“Yes,” said Phil, brightening up, “I should like to.” + +“Come on, then.” + +Phil looked at his fiddle and hesitated. + +“Oh, I’ll take care of your fiddle for you. Here, this tree is hollow; +just put it inside, and nobody will touch it.” + +Phil needed no second invitation. Sure of the safety of his fiddle, +which was all-important to him since it procured for him his livelihood, +he joined in the game with zest. It was so simple that he easily +understood it. His laugh was as loud and merry as any of the rest, and +his face glowed with enjoyment. + +It does not take long for boys to become acquainted. In the brief +time before the teacher’s arrival, Phil became on good terms with the +schoolboys, and the one who had first invited him to join them said: +“Come into school with us. You shall sit in my seat.” + +“Will he let me?” asked Phil, pointing to the teacher. + +“To be sure he will. Come along.” + +Phil took his fiddle from its hiding-place in the interior of the tree, +and walked beside his companion into the schoolroom. + +It was the first time he had ever been in a schoolroom before, and he +looked about him with curiosity at the desks, and the maps hanging +on the walls. The blackboards, too, he regarded with surprise, not +understanding their use. + +After the opening exercises were concluded, the teacher, whose attention +had been directed to the newcomer, walked up to the desk where he +was seated. Phil was a little alarmed, for, associating him with his +recollections of the padrone, he did not know but that he would be +punished for his temerity in entering without the teacher’s invitation. + +But he was soon reassured by the pleasant tone in which he was +addressed. + +“What is your name, my young friend?” + +“Filippo.” + +“You are an Italian, I suppose.” + +“Si, signore.” + +“Does that mean ‘Yes, sir’?” + +“Yes, sir,” answered Phil, remembering to speak English. + +“Is that your violin?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Where do you live?” + +Phil hesitated. + +“I am traveling,” he said at last. + +“You are young to travel alone. How long have you been in this country?” + +“A year.” + +“And have you been traveling about all that time?” + +“No, signore; I have lived in New York.” + +“I suppose you have not gone to school?” + +“No, signore.” + +“Well, I am glad to see you here; I shall be glad to have you stay and +listen to our exercises.” + +The teacher walked back to his desk, and the lessons began. Phil +listened with curiosity and attention. For the first time in his life +he felt ashamed of his own ignorance, and wished he, too, might have +a chance to learn, as the children around him were doing. But they had +homes and parents to supply their wants, while he must work for his +livelihood. + +After a time, recess came. Then the boys gathered around, and asked Phil +to play them a tune. + +“Will he let me?” asked the young fiddler, again referring to the +teacher. + +The latter, being applied to, readily consented, and expressed his own +wish to hear Phil. So the young minstrel played and sang several tunes +to the group of children who gathered around him. Time passed rapidly, +and the recess was over before the children anticipated it. + +“I am sorry to disturb your enjoyment,” said the teacher; “but duty +before pleasure, you know. I will only suggest that, as our young friend +here depends on his violin for support, we ought to collect a little +money for him. James Reynolds, suppose you pass around your hat for +contributions. Let me suggest that you come to me first.” + +The united offerings, though small individually, amounted to a dollar, +which Phil pocketed with much satisfaction. He did not remain after +recess, but resumed his wanderings, and about noon entered a grocery +store, where he made a hearty lunch. Thus far good fortune attended him, +but the time was coming, and that before long, when life would wear a +less sunny aspect. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +PHIL FINDS A FRIEND + +It was the evening before Christmas. Until to-day the winter had been an +open one, but about one o’clock in the afternoon the snow began to fall. +The flakes came thicker and faster, and it soon became evident that an +old-fashioned snowstorm had set in. By seven o’clock the snow lay a foot +deep on the level, but in some places considerably deeper, for a brisk +wind had piled it up in places. + +In a handsome house, some rods back from the village street, lived Dr. +Drayton, a physician, whose skill was so well appreciated that he had +already, though still in the prime of life, accumulated a handsome +competence. + +He sat this evening in his library, in dressing-gown and slippers, his +wife nearby engaged in some needlework. + +“I hope you won’t be called out this evening, Joseph,” said Mrs. +Drayton, as a gust of wind tattled the window panes. + +“I echo that wish, my dear,” said the doctor, looking up from the last +number of the Atlantic Monthly. “I find it much more comfortable here, +reading Dr. Holmes’ last article.” + +“The snow must be quite deep.” + +“It is. I found my ride from the north village this afternoon bleak +enough. You know how the wind sweeps across the road near the Pond +schoolhouse. I believe there is to be a Christmas-eve celebration in the +Town Hall this evening, is there not?” + +“No; it has been postponed till to-morrow evening.” + +“That will be better. The weather and walking will both be better. Shall +we go, Mary?” + +“If you wish it,” she said, hesitatingly. + +Her husband understood her hesitation. Christmas day was a sad +anniversary for them. Four years before, their only son, Walter, a boy +of eight, had died just as the Christmas church bells were ringing out a +summons to church. Since then the house had been a silent one, the quiet +unbroken by childish noise and merriment. Much as the doctor and his +wife were to each other, both felt the void which Walter’s death had +created, and especially as the anniversary came around which called to +mind their great loss. + +“I think we had better go,” said the doctor; “though God has bereft us +of our own child, it will be pleasant for us to watch the happy faces of +others.” + +“Perhaps you are right, Joseph.” + +Half an hour passed. The doctor continued reading the Atlantic, while +his wife, occupied with thoughts which the conversation had called up, +kept on with her work. + +Just then the bell was heard to ring. + +“I hope it is not for you, Joseph,” said his wife, apprehensively. + +“I am afraid it is,” said the doctor, with a look of resignation. + +“I thought it would be too good luck for me to have the whole evening to +myself.” + +“I wish you were not a doctor,” said Mrs. Drayton. + +“It is rather too late to change my profession, my dear,” said her +husband, good-humoredly. “I shall be fifty next birthday. To be sure, +Ellen Jones tells me that in her class at the Normal School there is a +maiden lady of sixty-two, who has just begun to prepare herself for the +profession of a teacher. I am not quite so old as that.” + +Here the servant opened the door, ushering in a farm laborer. + +“Good-evening, Abner,” said the doctor, recognizing him, as, indeed, he +knew every face within half a dozen miles. “Anything amiss at home?” + +“Mrs. Felton is took with spasms,” said Abner. “Can you come right +over?” + +“What have you done for her?” + +“Put her feet in warm water, and put her to bed. Can you come right +over?” + +“Yes,” said the doctor, rising and exchanging his dressing-gown for +a coat, and drawing on his boots. “I will go as soon as my horse is +ready.” + +Orders were sent out to put the horse to the sleigh. This was quickly +done, and the doctor, fully accoutered, walked to the door. + +“I shall be back as soon as I can, Mary,” he said. + +“That won’t be very soon. It is a good two-miles’ ride.” + +“I shan’t loiter on the way, you may be sure of that. Abner, I am +ready.” + +The snow was still falling, but not quite so fast as early in the +afternoon. The wind, however, blew quite as hard, and the doctor found +all his wrappings needful. + +At intervals on the road he came to deep drifts of snow through which +the horse had some difficulty in drawing the sleigh, but at length he +arrived at the door of his patient. He found that the violence of her +attack was over, and, satisfied of this, left a few simple directions, +which he considered sufficient. Nature would do the rest. + +“Now for home!” he said to himself. “I hope this will be my last +professional call this evening. Mary will be impatient for my return.” + +He gave the reins to his horse, who appeared to feel that he was bound +homeward, and traveled with more alacrity than he had come. + +He, too, no doubt shared the doctor’s hope that this was the last +service required of him before the morrow. + +Doctor Drayton had completed rather more than half his journey, when, +looking to the right, his attention was drawn to a small, dark object, +nearly covered with snow. + +Instinctively he reined up his horse. + +“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, “it must be a boy. God grant he is not +frozen!” + +He leaped from his sleigh, and lifted the insensible body. + +“It is an Italian boy, and here is his violin. The poor child may be +dead,” he said to himself in a startled tone. “I must carry him home, +and see what I can do for him.” + +So he took up tenderly our young hero--for our readers will have guessed +that it was Phil--and put both him and his violin into the sleigh. Then +he drove home with a speed which astonished even his horse, who, though +anxious to reach his comfortable stable, would not voluntarily have put +forth so great an exertion as was now required of him. + +I must explain that Phil had for the last ten days been traveling about +the country, getting on comfortably while the ground was bare of snow. +To-day, however, had proved very uncomfortable. In the city the snow +would have been cleared off, and would not have interfered so much with +traveling. + +He had bought some supper at a grocery store, and, after spending an +hour there, had set out again on his wanderings. He found the walking so +bad that he made up his mind to apply for a lodging at a house not +far back; but a fierce dog, by his barking, had deterred him from the +application. The road was lonely, and he had seen no other house since. +Finally, exhausted by the effort of dragging himself through the deep +snow, and, stiff with cold, he sank down by the side of the road, and +would doubtless have frozen had not the doctor made his appearance +opportunely. + +Mrs. Drayton was alarmed when her husband entered the sitting-room, +bearing Phil’s insensible form. + +She jumped to her feet in alarm. + +“Who is it, Joseph?” she asked. + +“A poor Italian boy, whom I found by the side of the road.” + +“Is he dead?” asked the doctor’s wife, quickly. + +“I think not. I will restore him if there is any life left in him.” + +It was fortunate for Phil that he had been discovered by a skillful +physician, who knew the most effectual means of bringing him to. The +flame of life was burning low, and a little longer exposure would have +closed the earthly career of our young hero. But he was spared, as we +hope, for a happy and useful career. + +By the application of powerful restoratives Phil was at length brought +round. His chilled limbs grew warm, and his heart began to beat more +steadily and strongly. A bed was brought down to the sitting-room, and +he was placed in it. + +“Where am I?” he asked faintly, when he opened his eyes. + +“You are with friends, my boy. Don’t ask questions now. In the morning, +you may ask as many as you like.” + +Phil closed his eyes languidly, and soon fell into a sound sleep. + +Nature was doing her work well and rapidly. + +In the morning Phil woke up almost wholly restored. + +As he opened his eyes, he met the kind glances of the doctor and his +wife. + +“How do you feel this morning?” asked the doctor. + +“I feel well,” said Phil, looking around him with curiosity. + +“Do you think you could eat some breakfast?” asked Dr. Drayton, with a +smile. + +“Yes, sir,” said Phil. + +“Then, my lad, I think I can promise you some as soon as you are +dressed. But I see from your looks you want to know where you are and +how you came here. Don’t you remember the snow-storm yesterday?” + +Phil shuddered. He remembered it only too well. + +“I found you lying by the side of the road about half-past eight in the +evening. I suppose you don’t remember my picking you up?” + +“No, sir.” + +“You were insensible. I was afraid at first you were frozen. But I +brought you home, and, thanks to Providence, you are all right again.” + +“Where is my fiddle?” asked Phil, anxiously. + +“It is safe. There it is on the piano.” + +Phil was relieved to see that his faithful companion was safe. He looked +upon it as his stock in trade, for without it he would not have known +how to make his livelihood. + +He dressed quickly, and was soon seated at the doctor’s well-spread +table. He soon showed that, in spite of his exposure and narrow escape +from death, he had a hearty appetite. Mrs. Drayton saw him eat with true +motherly pleasure, and her natural love of children drew her toward our +young hero, and would have done so even had he been less attractive. + +“Joseph,” she said, addressing her husband, “I want to speak to you a +moment.” + +He followed her out of the room. + +“Well, my dear?” he said. + +“I want to ask a favor.” + +“It is granted in advance.” + +“Perhaps you will not say so when you know what it is.” + +“I can guess it. You want to keep this boy.” + +“Are you willing?” + +“I would have proposed it, if you had not. He is without friends and +poor. We have enough and to spare. We will adopt him in place of our +lost Walter.” + +“Thank you, Joseph. It will make me happy. Whatever I do for him, I will +do for my lost darling.” + +They went back into the room. They found Phil with his cap on and his +fiddle under his arm. + +“Where are you going, Philip?” asked the doctor. + +“I am going into the street. I thank you for your kindness.” + +“Would you not rather stay with us?” + +Phil looked up, uncertain of his meaning. + +“We had a boy once, but he is dead. Will you stay with us and be our +boy?” + +Phil looked in the kind faces of the doctor and his wife, and his face +lighted up with joy at the unexpected prospect of such a home, with +people who would be kind to him. + +“I will stay,” he said. “You are very kind to me.” + +So our little hero had drifted into a snug harbor. His toils and +privations were over. And for the doctor and his wife it was a glad day +also. On Christmas Day four years before they had lost a child. On this +Christmas, God had sent them another to fill the void in their hearts. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +CONCLUSION + +It was a strange thing for the homeless fiddler to find himself the +object of affectionate care and solicitude--to feel, when he woke up in +the morning, no anxiety about the day’s success. He could not have found +a better home. Naturally attractive, and without serious faults, Phil +soon won his way to the hearts of the good doctor and his wife. The +house seemed brighter for his presence, and the void in the heart of the +bereaved mother was partially filled. Her lost Walter would have been of +the same age as Phil, had he lived. For his sake she determined to treat +the boy, who seemed cast by Providence upon her protection, as a son. + +To begin with, Phil was carried to the village tailor, where an ample +wardrobe was ordered for him. His old clothes were not cast aside, but +kept in remembrance of his appearance at the time he came to them. It +was a novel sensation for Phil, when, in his new suit, with a satchel of +books in his hand, he set out for the town school. It is needless to say +that his education was very defective, but he was far from deficient in +natural ability, and the progress he made was so rapid that in a year he +was on equal footing with the average of boys at his age. He was able at +that time to speak English as fluently as his companions, and, but for +his dark eyes, and clear brown complexion, he might have been mistaken +for an American boy. + +His popularity with his schoolfellows was instant and decided. His good +humor and lively disposition might readily account for that, even if his +position as the adopted son of a prominent citizen had no effect. But it +was understood that the doctor, who had no near relatives, intended to +treat Phil in all respects as a son, even to leaving him his heir. + +It may be asked whether the padrone gave up all efforts to recover the +young fiddler. He was too vindictive for this. Boys had run away from +him before, but none had subjected him to such ignominious failure in +the effort for their recovery. It would have fared ill with our young +hero if he had fallen again into the hands of his unscrupulous enemy. +But the padrone was not destined to recover him. Day after day Pietro +explored the neighboring towns, but all to no purpose. He only visited +the principal towns, while Phil was in a small town, not likely to +attract the attention of his pursuers. + +A week after his signal failure in Newark, the padrone inserted an +advertisement in the New York Herald, offering a reward of twenty-five +dollars for the recovery of Phil. But our hero was at that time +wandering about the country, and the advertisement did not fall under +the eyes of those with whom he came in contact. At length the padrone +was compelled to own himself baffled and give up the search. He was not +without hopes, however, that sometime Phil would turn up. He did hear of +him again through Pietro, but not in a way to bring him any nearer his +recovery. + +This is the way it happened: + +One Saturday morning in March, about three months after Phil had found a +home, the doctor said to him: “Phil, I am going to New York this morning +on a little business; would you like to come with me?” + +Phil’s eyes brightened. Though he was happy in his village home, he had +longed at times to find himself in the city streets with which his old +vagabond life had rendered him so familiar. + +“I should like it very much,” he answered, eagerly. + +“Then run upstairs and get ready. I shall start in fifteen minutes.” + +Phil started, and then turned back. + +“I might meet Pietro, or the padrone,” he said, hesitating. + +“No matter if you do, I shall be with you. If they attempt to recover +you, I will summon the police.” + +The doctor spoke so confidently that Phil dismissed his momentary fear. +Two hours later they set foot in New York. + +“Now, Phil,” said the doctor, “my business will not take long. After +that, if there are any friends you would like to see, I will go with you +and find them.” + +“I should like to see Paul Hoffman,” said Phil. “I owe him two dollars +and a half for the fiddle.” + +“He shall be paid,” said the doctor. “He shall lose nothing by trusting +you.” + +An hour afterward, while walking with the doctor in a side street, +Phil’s attention was attracted by the notes of a hand-organ. Turning in +the direction from which they came, he met the glance of his old enemy, +Pietro. + +“It is Pietro,” he said, quickly, touching the arm of his companion. + +Pietro had not been certain till then that it was Phil. It looked like +him, to be sure, but his new clothing and general appearance made such +a difference between him and the Phil of former days that he would +have supposed it only an accidental resemblance. But Phil’s evident +recognition of him convinced him of his identity. He instantly ceased +playing, and, with eager exultation, advanced to capture him. Phil would +have been alarmed but for his confidence in the doctor’s protection. + +“I have got you at last, scelerato,” said Pietro, roughly, grasping Phil +by the shoulder with a hostile glance. + +The doctor instantly seized him by the collar, and hurled him back. + +“What do you mean by assaulting my son?” he demanded, coolly. + +Pietro was rather astonished at this unexpected attack. + +“He is my brother,” he said. “He must go back with me.” + +“He is not your brother. If you touch him again, I will hand you to the +police.” + +“He ran away from my uncle,” said Pietro. + +“Your uncle should have treated him better.” + +“He stole a fiddle,” said Pietro, doggedly. + +“He had paid for it over and over again,” said the doctor. “Phil, come +along. We have no further business with this young man.” + +They walked on, but Pietro followed at a little distance. Seeing this, +Dr. Drayton turned back. + +“Young man,” he said, “do you see that policeman across the street?” + +“Si, signore,” answered Pietro. + +“Then I advise you to go in a different direction, or I shall request +him to follow you.” + +Pietro’s sallow face was pale with rage. He felt angry enough to tear +Phil to pieces, but his rage was unavailing. He had a wholesome fear +of the police, and the doctor’s threat was effectual. He turned +away, though with reluctance, and Phil breathed more freely. Pietro +communicated his information to the padrone, and the latter, finding +that Phil had found a powerful protector, saw that it would be dangerous +for him to carry the matter any further, and sensibly resolved to give +up the chase. + +Of the padrone I have only further to say that some months later he got +into trouble. In a low drinking saloon an altercation arose between him +and another ruffian one evening, when the padrone, in his rage, drew a +knife, and stabbed his adversary. He was arrested and is now serving out +his sentence in Sing Sing. + +Pietro, by arrangement with him, took his place, stipulating to pay +him a certain annual sum. But he has taken advantage of his uncle’s +incarceration to defraud him, and after the first payment neglected to +make any returns. It may readily be imagined that this imbitters the +padrone’s imprisonment. Knowing what I do of his fierce temper, I should +not be surprised to hear of a murderous encounter between him and his +nephew after his release from imprisonment, unless, as is probable, just +before the release, Pietro should flee the country with the ill-gotten +gains he may have acquired during his term of office. Meanwhile the boys +are treated with scarcely less rigor by him than by his uncle, and toil +early and late, suffering hardships and privations, that Pietro may grow +rich. + +Paul Hoffman had often thought of Phil, and how he had fared. He was +indeed surprised and pleased when the young fiddler walked up and called +him by name. + +“Phil,” he exclaimed, grasping his hand heartily, “I am very glad to see +you. Have you made a fortune?” + +“He has found a father,” said Dr. Drayton, speaking for Phil, “who wants +to thank you for your past kindness to his son.” + +“It was nothing,” said Paul, modestly. + +“It was a great deal to Phil, for, except your family, he had no +friends.” + +To this Paul made a suitable reply, and gave Phil and his new father +an earnest invitation to dine with him. This the doctor declined, but +agreed to call at the rooms of Mrs. Hoffman, if Paul would agree to come +and pass the next Sunday with Phil as his visitor. Paul accepted the +invitation with pleasure, and it is needless to say that he received a +hearty welcome and agreed, in the approaching summer, to make another +visit. + +And now we bid farewell to Phil, the young, street musician. If his +life henceforth shall be less crowded with adventures, and so less +interesting, it is because he has been fortunate in securing a good +home. Some years hence the Doctor promises to give himself a vacation, +and take Phil with him to Europe, where he will seek out his Italian +home, and the mother with whom he has already opened communication +by letter. So we leave Phil in good hands, and with the prospect of a +prosperous career. But there are hundreds of young street musicians +who have not met with his good fortune, but are compelled, by hard +necessity, to submit to the same privations and hardships from which he +is happily relieved. May a brighter day dawn for them also! + +I hope my readers feel an interest in Paul Hoffman, the young street +merchant, who proved so efficient a friend to our young hero. His +earlier adventures are chronicled in “Paul, the Peddler.” His later +history will be chronicled in the next volume of this series, which will +be entitled “Slow and Sure; or From the Sidewalk to the Shop.” + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Phil the Fiddler, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL THE FIDDLER *** + +***** This file should be named 671-0.txt or 671-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/671/ + +Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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