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diff --git a/671-h/671-h.htm b/671-h/671-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ffbe5b --- /dev/null +++ b/671-h/671-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8576 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Phil, the Fiddler, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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: January 9, 2019 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHIL THE FIDDLER *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + PHIL, THE FIDDLER + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Horatio Alger, Jr. + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a><br /> <br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>PHIL THE FIDDLER</b></big> </a><br /> + <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I -- PHIL THE FIDDLER </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II -- PHIL AND HIS PROTECTOR </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> + CHAPTER III -- GIACOMO </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV -- GIACOMO </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V -- ON THE FERRY BOAT </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> + CHAPTER VI -- THE BARROOM </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII -- THE HOME OF THE BOYS </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII -- A COLD DAY </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> + CHAPTER IX -- PIETRO THE SPY </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X -- FRENCH’S HOTEL </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI -- THE BOYS RECEPTION </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> + CHAPTER XII -- GIACOMO’S PRESENTIMENTS </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII -- PHIL FINDS A CAPITALIST </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV -- THE TAMBOURINE GIRL </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> + CHAPTER XV -- PHIL’S NEW PLANS </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI -- THE FASHIONABLE PARTY </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII -- THE PADRONE IS ANXIOUS </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> + CHAPTER XVIII -- PHIL ELUDES HIS PURSUER </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX -- PIETRO’S PURSUIT </a><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX -- PIETRO’S DISAPPOINTMENT </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> + CHAPTER XXI -- THE SIEGE </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII -- THE SIEGE IS RAISED </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII -- A PITCHED BATTLE </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> + CHAPTER XXIV -- THE DEATH OF GIACOMO </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV -- PHIL FINDS A FRIEND </a><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI -- CONCLUSION </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + NEW YORK, APRIL 2, 1872. <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PHIL THE FIDDLER + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + PHIL THE FIDDLER + </h3> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You’re to come in,” said the girl abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Che cosa volete?” (1) said Phil, suspiciously. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (1) “What do you want?” + </pre> + <p> + “I don’t understand your Italian rubbish,” said the girl. “You’re to come + into the house.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What for I go?” he asked, a little distrustfully. + </p> + <p> + “My young master wants to hear you play on your fiddle,” said the servant. + “He’s sick, and can’t come out.” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” said Phil, using one of the first English phrases he had + caught. “I will go.” + </p> + <p> + “Come along, then.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Phil looked from one to the other, uncertain what was required of him. + </p> + <p> + “Can you speak English?” asked Mrs. Leigh. + </p> + <p> + “Si, signora, a little,” answered our hero. + </p> + <p> + “My son is sick, and would like to hear you play a little.” + </p> + <p> + “And sing, too,” added the sick boy, from the bed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The sick boy listened with evident pleasure, for he, too, had a taste for + music. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could understand Italian,” he said, “I think it must be a good + song.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he can sing some English song,” suggested Mrs. Leigh. + </p> + <p> + “Can you sing in English?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know any more?” asked Henry Leigh, when our hero had finished. + </p> + <p> + “Not English,” said Phil, shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to learn more.” + </p> + <p> + “I can play more,” said Phil, “but I know not the words.” + </p> + <p> + “Then play some tunes.” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon the little Italian struck up “Yankee Doodle,” which he played + with spirit and evident enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the name of that?” asked Henry. + </p> + <p> + Phil shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It is ‘Yankee Doodle.’” + </p> + <p> + Phil tried to pronounce it, but the words in his mouth had a droll sound, + and made them laugh. + </p> + <p> + “How old are you?” asked Henry. + </p> + <p> + “Twelve years.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are quite as old as I am.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been in this country?” + </p> + <p> + “Un anno.” + </p> + <p> + “How long is that?” + </p> + <p> + “A year,” said Henry. “I know that, because ‘annus’ means a year in + Latin.” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signor, a year,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “And where do you come from?” + </p> + <p> + “Da Napoli.” + </p> + <p> + “That means from Naples, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signor.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who do you live with,” continued Henry. + </p> + <p> + “With the padrone.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is the padrone?” + </p> + <p> + “He take care of me—he bring me from Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he kind to you?” + </p> + <p> + Phil shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “He beat me sometimes,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Beats you? What for?” + </p> + <p> + “If I bring little money.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he beat you hard?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signor, with a stick.” + </p> + <p> + “He must be a bad man,” said Henry, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “How much money must you carry home?” + </p> + <p> + “Two dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “But it isn’t your fault, if people will not give you money.” + </p> + <p> + “Non importa. He beat me.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be beaten himself.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + PHIL AND HIS PROTECTOR + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Get away from my shop, you little vagabond!” he cried. “If I had my way, + you should all be sent out of the country.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Give us a tune, Johnny,” cried Edward Eustis, one of the oldest boys. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a tune,” joined in several others. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The boys gathered around the little minstrel, who struck up an Italian + tune, but without the words. + </p> + <p> + “Sing, sing!” cried the boys. + </p> + <p> + Phil began to sing. His clear, fresh voice produced a favorable impression + upon the boys. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a bully singer,” said one. “I can’t sing much better myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You sing! Your singing would be enough to scare a dozen tom cats.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we should be well matched. Look here, Johnny, can’t you sing + something in English?” + </p> + <p> + Phil, in response to this request, played and sang “Shoo Fly!” which + suiting the boys’ taste, he was called upon to repeat. + </p> + <p> + The song being finished, Edward Eustis took off his cap, and went around + the circle. + </p> + <p> + “Now, boys, you have a chance to show your liberality,” he said. “I’ll + start the collection with five cents.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s ahead of me,” said James Marcus. “Justice to a large and expensive + family will prevent me contributing anything more than two cents.” + </p> + <p> + “The smallest favors thankfully received,” said Edward. + </p> + <p> + “Then take that, and be thankful,” said Tom Lane, dropping in a penny. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got any money,” said Frank Gaylord, “but here’s an apple;” and + he dropped a large red apple into the cap. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The biggest contribution yet,” said Edward. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Sprague, you are liberal. What’ll you give?” + </p> + <p> + “My note at ninety days.” + </p> + <p> + “You might fail before it comes due.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take three cents. ‘Tis all I have; ‘I can no more, though poor the + offering be.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t quote Shakespeare.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t Shakespeare; it’s Milton.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as much one as the other.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Give it back,” said Phil, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you wish you may get it?” said the other, holding it out of his + reach. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Give it to me,” he said, stamping his foot. + </p> + <p> + “I mean to eat it myself,” said the other, coolly. “It’s too good for the + likes of you.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a thief.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you call me names, you little Italian ragamuffin, or I’ll hit you,” + said the other, menacingly. + </p> + <p> + “It is my apple.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to eat it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What did you do that for?” demanded the thief. + </p> + <p> + “What did you take the boy’s apple for?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I felt like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I took it from you for the same reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to fight?” blustered the rowdy. + </p> + <p> + “Not particularly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then hand me back that apple,” returned the other. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; I shall only hand it to the rightful owner—that little + Italian boy. Are you not ashamed to rob him?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to get hit?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t advise you to do it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Come here, Johnny, and take your apple,” said Edward. + </p> + <p> + Phil advanced, and received back his property with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better eat it now. I’ll see that he doesn’t disturb you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Edward turned away, but in a moment felt a hand tugging at his coat. + Looking around, he saw that it was Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Grazia, signore,” said Phil, gratefully. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that means ‘Thank you’?” + </p> + <p> + Phil nodded. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Johnny! I am glad I was by to save you from that bully.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + GIACOMO + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How much money have you, Giacomo?” asked Phil, speaking, of course, in + his native tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Forty cents. How much have you?” + </p> + <p> + “A dollar and twenty cents.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very lucky, Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid the padrone will beat me to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “He has not beat me for a week.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you had dinner, Filippo?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I had some bread and cheese, and an apple.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you buy the apple?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I. Do you remember, Filippo, the oranges we had in Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember them well.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not so strong as I, Giacomo,” said Phil, looking with some + complacency at his own stout limbs. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you get tired, Filippo?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, often; but I don’t care so much for that. But I don’t like the + winter.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I should die with cold sometimes last winter,” said Giacomo, + shuddering. “Do you ever expect to go back to Italy, Filippo?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometime.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could go now. I should like to see my dear mother and my + sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “And your father?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “We are not wasting our time, padrone,” said Phil, looking up fearlessly. + </p> + <p> + “We will see about that. How long have you been together?” + </p> + <p> + “Only five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “How much money have you, Filippo?” + </p> + <p> + “A dollar and twenty cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Good; you have done well. And how is it with you, Giacomo?” + </p> + <p> + “I have forty cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have been idle,” said the padrone, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “No, signore,” said the boy, trembling. “I have played, but they did not + give me much money.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not his fault,” said Phil, coming boldly to the defense of his + friend. + </p> + <p> + “Attend to your own affairs, little scrape-grace,” said the padrone, + roughly. “He might have got as much as you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, padrone; I was lucky. A kind lady gave me fifty cents.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now, go to work, both of you,” said the padrone, harshly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Play us a tune, Johnny,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “Will you give me pennies?” asked Phil doubtfully, for he did not care, + with such a severe taskmaster, to work for nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’ll give you pennies.” + </p> + <p> + Upon this, Phil struck up a tune. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s your monkey?” asked one of the boys. + </p> + <p> + “I have no monkey.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want a monkey, here’s one for you,” said Tim Rafferty, putting his + hand on his companion’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “He’s too big,” said Phil, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Give me my pennies,” said Phil, with an eye to business. + </p> + <p> + “Play another tune, then.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How much have you made to-day, Johnny?” asked Tim. + </p> + <p> + “A dollar,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A great fiddler you’d make, Tim Rafferty.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t I play, then? Lend me your fiddle, Johnny, till I try it a little.” + </p> + <p> + Phil shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Give it to me now; I won’t be hurtin’ it.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll break it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll pay for it.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose is it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “The padrone’s.” + </p> + <p> + “And who’s the padrone?” + </p> + <p> + “The man I live with. If the fiddle is broken, he will beat me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he’s an ould haythen, and you may tell him so, with Tim Rafferty’s + compliments. But I won’t hurt it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t give it to me I’ll put a head on you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You shall not have it,” said Phil, firmly, for he, too, could be + determined. + </p> + <p> + “The little chap’s showing fight,” said Tim’s companion. “Look out, Tim; + he’ll mash you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can fight him wid one hand,” said Tim. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + AN INVITATION TO SUPPER + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who did that?” he cried, angrily, recovering his equilibrium. + </p> + <p> + “I did it,” said a calm voice. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What made you push me?” demanded Tim, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “What were you going to do to him?” rejoined Paul, indicating the Italian + boy. + </p> + <p> + “I was only goin’ to borrer his fiddle.” + </p> + <p> + “He would have broken it,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know how to play,” said Paul. “You would have broken his + fiddle, and then he would be beaten.” + </p> + <p> + “I would pay for it if I did,” said Tim. + </p> + <p> + “You say so, but you wouldn’t. Even if you did, it would take time, and + the boy would have suffered.” + </p> + <p> + “What business is that of yours?” demanded Tim, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “It is always my business when I see a big boy teasing a little one.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get hurt some day,” said Tim, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Not by you,” returned Paul, not particularly alarmed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Come along with me, Phil,” said Paul, kindly, to the little fiddler. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for saving me,” said Phil, gratefully. “The padrone would beat + me if the fiddle was broke.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you come home and take supper with me?” + </p> + <p> + Phil hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “You are kind,” he said, “but I fear the padrone.” + </p> + <p> + “What will he do to you?” + </p> + <p> + “He will beat me if I don’t bring home enough money.” + </p> + <p> + “How much more must you get?” + </p> + <p> + “Sixty cents.” + </p> + <p> + “You can play better after a good supper. Come along; I won’t keep you + long.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How old are you, Phil?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Twelve years.” + </p> + <p> + “And who taught you to play?” + </p> + <p> + “No one. I heard the other boys play, and so I learned.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes; but I get tired of it.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Phil shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’ll go back to Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any relations there?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a mother and two sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “And a father?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a father.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did they let you come away?” + </p> + <p> + “The padrone gave my father money.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you hear anything from home?” + </p> + <p> + “No, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a signore,” said Paul, smiling. “You may call me Paul. Is that + an Italian name?” + </p> + <p> + “Me call it Paolo.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds queer to me. What’s James in Italian?” + </p> + <p> + “Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I have a little brother Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + “How old is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Eight years old.” + </p> + <p> + “My sister Bettina is eight years. I wish I could see her.” + </p> + <p> + “You will see her again some day, Phil. You will get rich in America, and + go back to sunny Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “The padrone takes all my money.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hoffman and Jimmy looked with some surprise at the little fiddler as + he entered with Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said Paul, “this is one of my friends, whom I have invited to + take supper with us.” + </p> + <p> + “He is welcome,” said Mrs. Hoffman, kindly. “Have you ever spoken to us of + him?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure. His name is Phil—Phil the fiddler, we call him.” + </p> + <p> + “Filippo,” said the young musician. + </p> + <p> + “We will call you Phil; it is easier to speak,” said Paul. “This is my + little brother Jimmy. He is a great artist.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are laughing at me, Paul,” said the little boy. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I could,” said the little boy, slowly, looking carefully at their + young guest; “but it would take some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Phil will come some day, and give you a sitting.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come?” asked Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + “I will come some day.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Supper is ready, Paul,” said his mother, when all was finished. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Phil, you may sit here at my right hand,” said Paul. “I will put + your violin where it will not be injured.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Let me give you some meat, Phil,” said Paul. “Now, shall we drink the + health of the padrone in coffee?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not drink his health,” said Phil. “He is a bad man.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the padrone?” asked Jimmy, curiously. + </p> + <p> + “He is my master. He sends me out to play for money.” + </p> + <p> + “And must you give all the money you make to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; if I do not bring much money, he will beat me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he must be a bad man. Why do you live with him?” + </p> + <p> + “He bought me from my father.” + </p> + <p> + “He bought you?” repeated Jimmy, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “He hires him for so much money,” explained Paul. + </p> + <p> + “But why did your father let you go with a bad man?” asked Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + “He wanted the money,” said Phil. “He cared more for money than for me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You must not ask too many questions, Jimmy.” said Mrs. Hoffman, fearing + that he might awaken sad thoughts in the little musician. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is Italy like America?” asked Jimmy, whose curiosity was excited to learn + something of Phil’s birthplace. + </p> + <p> + “It is much nicer,” said Phil, with a natural love of country. “There are + olive trees and orange trees, and grapes—very many.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there really orange trees? Have you seen them grow?” + </p> + <p> + “I have picked them from the trees many times.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like that, but I don’t care for olives.” + </p> + <p> + “They are good, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like the grapes.” + </p> + <p> + “There are other things in Italy which you would like better, Jimmy,” said + Paul. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Paul?” + </p> + <p> + “The galleries of fine paintings.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should like to see them. Have you seen them?” + </p> + <p> + Phil shook his head. The picture galleries are in the cities, and not in + the country district where he was born. + </p> + <p> + “Sometime, when I am rich, we will all go to Italy, Jimmy; then, if Phil + is at home, we will go and see him.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like that, Paul.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + ON THE FERRY BOAT + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I play for you?” he asked, taking his violin from the top of the + bureau, where Paul had placed it. + </p> + <p> + “Will you?” asked Jimmy, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “We should be very glad to hear you,” said Mrs. Hoffman. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo, Phil!” said Paul. “You sing almost as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + Jimmy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You sing about as well as you draw,” said the little boy. + </p> + <p> + “There you go again with your envy and jealousy,” said Paul, in an injured + tone. “Others appreciate me better.” + </p> + <p> + “Sing something, and we will judge of your merits,” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + So the little fiddler once more touched the strings of his violin, and + sang the hymn of Garibaldi. + </p> + <p> + “He has a beautiful voice,” said Mrs. Hoffman to Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Phil sings much better than most of his class. Shall I bring him up + here again?” + </p> + <p> + “Any time, Paul. We shall always be glad to see him.” + </p> + <p> + Here Phil took his cap and prepared to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” he said in English. “I thank you all for your kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come again?” said Mrs. Hoffman. “We shall be glad to have you.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you much,” he said. “I will come again some day.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I know the way,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “You know, papa, you have no taste for music. Why, you went to sleep at + the opera the other evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to,” said her father, in whom musical taste had a very limited + development. “It was all nonsense to me.” + </p> + <p> + “He is singing the Hymn of Garibaldi. What a sweet voice he has! Such a + handsome little fellow, too!” + </p> + <p> + “He has a dirty face, and his clothes are quite ragged.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as you like, Florence; as I am not a romantic young damsel, I shall + not follow your example.”’ + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, lady,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You sing very nicely,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + Phil smiled, and dirty though his face was, the smile lighted it up with + rare beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Do you often come on these boats?” asked the young lady. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes, but they do not always let me play,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I shall hear you again. You have a good voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, signorina.” + </p> + <p> + “You can speak English. I tried to speak with one of you the other day, + but he could only speak Italian.” + </p> + <p> + “I know a few words, signorina.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know where you get all your foolish romance from—not from + me, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think not,” said Florence, laughing merrily. “Your worst enemy + won’t charge you with being romantic, papa.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-day, papa.” + </p> + <p> + The passengers vacated the boat, and were replaced by a smaller number, on + their way from Brooklyn to New York. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + THE BARROOM + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Stop your noise, boy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Phil looked up. + </p> + <p> + “May I not play?” + </p> + <p> + “No; nobody wants to hear you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I need not play any more,” he thought. “I shall not be beaten to-night.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Give us a tune, boy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Play a tune on your fiddle, you little ragamuffin,” said one. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I play?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Anything,” hiccoughed one. “It’s all the same to me. I don’t know one + tune from another.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Phil liked the weak wines of his native land, but he did not care for the + poisonous decoctions of be found in such places. + </p> + <p> + “I am not thirsty,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are; here, give this boy a glass of brandy.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not want it,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let the boy go, Jack,” said a fellow sailor. “If he don’t want to + drink, don’t force him.” + </p> + <p> + But his persecutor was made ugly by his potations, and swore that Phil + should drink before he left the barroom. + </p> + <p> + “That he shall not,” said his new friend. + </p> + <p> + “Who is to prevent it?” demanded Jack, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll pour a glass down your throat, too,” returned Jack, menacingly. + </p> + <p> + “No need of that. I am ready enough to drink. But the boy shan’t drink, if + he don’t want to.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall!” retorted the first sailor, with an oath. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + About ten o’clock, as he was walking on the Bowery, he met Giacomo, his + companion of the morning. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Filippo?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Giacomo. What luck have you had?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + “I have had better luck,” he said. “I have almost three dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “You are always luckier than I, Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “I am stronger, Giacomo. It does not tire me so much to walk about.” + </p> + <p> + “You can sing, too. I cannot sing very much, and I do not get so much + money.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me just how much money you have, Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a dollar and thirty cents,” said Giacomo, after counting the + contents of his pockets. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Phil had been doing the same thing. The result of his count was + that he found he had two dollars and eighty cents. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Giacomo,” he said. “I will give you enough to make two dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “But then you will be beaten.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I shall have two dollars and five cents left. Then neither of us will + get beaten.” + </p> + <p> + “How kind you are, Filippo!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + THE HOME OF THE BOYS + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He looked up as the two boys entered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Filippo,” he said, harshly, “how much have you got?” + </p> + <p> + Phil handed over his earnings. They were up to the required limit, but the + padrone looked only half satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you have?” he asked, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “It is all, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not done well this afternoon, then. When I met you at twelve + o’clock you had more than a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “It was because a good signora gave me fifty cents.” + </p> + <p> + The padrone, still suspicious, plunging his hands into Phil’s pockets, but + in vain. He could not find another penny. + </p> + <p> + “Take off your shoes and stockings,” he said, still unsatisfied. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Having discovered nothing, he took Phil’s violin, and proceeded to + Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + “Now for you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Take care that you do as well to-morrow,” he said. “Go and get your + supper.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you give your bread to Giuseppe?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Because I was not hungry,” answered Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Why were you not hungry? Did you buy some supper?” + </p> + <p> + “No, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you should be hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “A kind lady gave me some supper.” + </p> + <p> + “How did it happen?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew her son. His name is Paolo. He asked me to go home with him. Then + he gave me a good supper.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It was not long, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “You can eat what is given you, but you must not waste too much time.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ludovico,” he said, sharply, “what do you bring me?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, padrone,” said Ludovico, producing a small sum of money. + </p> + <p> + “I could not help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Seventy-five cents,” repeated the padrone, indignantly. “You have been + idle, you little wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “No, padrone. Indeed, I did my best. The people would not give me money.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you go?” + </p> + <p> + “I was in Brooklyn.” + </p> + <p> + “You have spent some of the money.” + </p> + <p> + “No, padrone.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been idle, then. No supper to-night. Pietro, my stick!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Pietro responded with alacrity to the command of the padrone, and produced + a stout stick, which he handed to his uncle. + </p> + <p> + “Now strip off your jacket,” said the padrone, harshly. + </p> + <p> + “Spare me, padrone! Do not beat me! It was not my fault,” said the unhappy + Ludovico, imploringly. + </p> + <p> + “Take off your jacket!” repeated the padrone, pitilessly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Help him, Pietro,” said the padrone. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hold him, Pietro!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Ludovico shrieked aloud, and again implored mercy, but in vain, for the + stick descended again and again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + A COLD DAY + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I wish it were night, Filippo,” said Giacomo, shivering with cold. + </p> + <p> + “So do I, Giacomo. Are you very cold?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the little boy, his teeth chattering. “I wish I were back in + Italy. It is never so cold there.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + He, too, looked at the two fiddlers, and he could not help noticing how + cold they looked. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, you little chaps, are you cold? You look as if you had just + come from Greenland.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil. “We are cold.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He drew a pair of worsted gloves from his pocket, and handed them to Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Phil; but having received them, he gave them to Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + “You are colder than I am, Giacomo,” he said. “Take them.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are cold, too, Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “I will put my hands in my pockets. Don’t mind me.” + </p> + <p> + Of course this conversation took place in Italian; for, though Phil had + learned considerable English, Giacomo understood but a few words of it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we go in somewhere and get warm? pleaded Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a grocery store. We will go in there.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want here, you little vagabonds?” he exclaimed, harshly, as + he saw the two boys enter. + </p> + <p> + “We are cold,” said Phil. “May we stand by your stove and get warm?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Phil hesitated, not knowing whether he was ordered out or not. + </p> + <p> + “Clear out of my store, I say!” said the grocer, harshly. “I don’t want + you in here. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a gentleman of prepossessing appearance entered the store. + He heard the grocer’s last words, and their inhumanity made him indignant. + </p> + <p> + “What do these boys want, Mr. Perkins?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “They want to spend their time in my shop. I have no room for such + vagabonds.” + </p> + <p> + “We are cold,” said Phil. “We only want to warm ourselves by the fire.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want you here,” said the grocer, irritably. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “They can stay, Mr. Pomeroy,” he said, with an ill grace, “since you ask + it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + By this time the grocer perceived that he had made a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are mistaken. They don’t look like thieves. Did you ever have + anything stolen by one of this class of boys?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of,” said the grocer, hesitatingly; “but it is likely + they would steal if they got a chance.” + </p> + <p> + “We have no right to say that of anyone without good cause.” + </p> + <p> + “We never steal,” said Phil, indignantly; for he understood what was said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he says so,” sneered the grocer. “Come and warm yourselves, if + you want to.” + </p> + <p> + The boys accepted this grudging invitation, and drew near the stove. They + spread out their hands, and returning warmth proved very grateful to them. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been out long?” asked the gentleman who had interceded in their + behalf, also drawing near the stove. + </p> + <p> + “Since eight, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you live in Brooklyn?” + </p> + <p> + “No; in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you go out every day?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “How long since you came from Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “A year.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to go back?” + </p> + <p> + “He would,” said Phil, pointing to his companion. “I would like to stay + here, if I had a good home.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a home have you? With whom do you live?” + </p> + <p> + “With the padrone.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that means your guardian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Is he kind to you?” + </p> + <p> + “He beats us if we do not bring home enough money.” + </p> + <p> + “Your lot is a hard one. What makes you stay with him? Don’t the boys ever + run away?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “What does the padrone do in that case?” + </p> + <p> + “He tries to find them.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he does—what then?” + </p> + <p> + “He beats them for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “Evidently your padrone is a brute. Why don’t you complain to the police?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I think I should enjoy giving your padrone a horsewhipping,” said the + gentleman, impetuously. “Can such things be permitted in the nineteenth + century?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Pomeroy deigned no reply to this remark. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Addio, signore,” said the two boys. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that means ‘good-by.’ Well, good-by, and better luck.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + PIETRO THE SPY + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you got warm yet?” he asked. “I can’t have you in my way all + day.” + </p> + <p> + “We will go,” said Phil. “Come, Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + He did not thank the grocer, knowing how grudgingly permission had been + given. + </p> + <p> + So they went out again into the chill air, but they had got thoroughly + warmed, and were better able to bear it. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we go, Filippo?” asked the younger boy. + </p> + <p> + “We will go back to New York. It is not so cold there.” + </p> + <p> + Giacomo unhesitatingly assented to whatever Phil proposed. He was not + self-reliant, like our hero, but always liked to have someone to lean + upon. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When six o’clock came Giacomo asked Phil, who acted as treasurer, how much + money they had. + </p> + <p> + “Two dollars,” answered Phil. + </p> + <p> + “That is only one dollar for each.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we shall be beaten,” said the little boy, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid so.” + </p> + <p> + “And get no supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil; “unless,” he added, “we get some supper now.” + </p> + <p> + “With this money?” asked Giacomo, startled at the boldness of the + suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we shall be beaten at any rate. It will be no worse for us if we get + some supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you buy some bread?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Phil, daringly. “I am going to buy some meat.” + </p> + <p> + “What will the padrone say?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not tell the padrone.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he will find out?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Besides, we ought to have some supper after walking about all day.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go in here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + They entered the restaurant, and sat down at a table. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Presently a waiter presented himself. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ordered?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Give me some roast beef,” said Phil. “What will you have, Giacomo?” + </p> + <p> + “The same as you, Filippo,” said Giacomo, in Italian. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” asked the waiter, thinking he had named some dish. + </p> + <p> + “He will have some roast beef, too. Will you have some coffee, Giacomo?” + </p> + <p> + “If you have it,” answered the smaller boy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is good,” said Phil, briefly, as he laid down his knife and fork, + after disposing of the last morsel upon his plate. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could have such a supper every day,” said Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + “I will when I am a man,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I shall ever be a man,” said Giacomo, shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Phil, regarding him with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think I shall live.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think so, Giacomo?” said Phil, startled. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I shall, Filippo. Do you remember Matteo?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember him.” + </p> + <p> + Matteo was a comrade who had died six months before. He was a young boy, + about the size and age of Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed of him last night, Filippo. He held out his hand to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I am going to die, like him.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You must not think of this, Giacomo,” he said. “You will be an old man + some day.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s for you, Filippo. It isn’t for me,” said the little boy. + </p> + <p> + “Come, let us go,” said Phil, desirous of dropping the subject. + </p> + <p> + He went up to the desk, and paid for both, the sum of thirty cents. + </p> + <p> + “Now, come,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the street, unobserved by Phil and Giacomo, and entered the + restaurant. + </p> + <p> + “Were my two brothers here?” he asked, assuming relationship. + </p> + <p> + “Two boys with fiddles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they just went out.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they get supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they had some roast beef and coffee.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Pietro, and he left the restaurant with his suspicions + confirmed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell the padrone,” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + “They will feel the stick to-night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + FRENCH’S HOTEL + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Giacomo?” asked Phil, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I feel so cold, Filippo—so cold and tired. I wish I could rest.” + </p> + <p> + The boys were in Printing House Square, near the spot where now stands the + Franklin statue. + </p> + <p> + “If you want to rest, Giacomo,” said Phil, pityingly, “we will go into + French’s Hotel a little while.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you feel better, Giacomo?” asked his comrade. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Filippo; I wish I could stay here till it is time to go home.” + </p> + <p> + “We will, then. We shall get no more money outside.” + </p> + <p> + “The padrone——” + </p> + <p> + “Will beat us at any rate. It will be no worse for us. Besides they may + possibly ask us to play here.” + </p> + <p> + “I can play no more to-night, Filippo, I am so tired.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Gardner,” said the first, “where shall we go to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Why need we go anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you might like to go to some place of amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “So I would if the weather were less inclement. The most comfortable place + is by the fire.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right as to that, but the evening will be long and stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed. Here, boy, can you play on that fiddle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Well, give us a tune, then. Is that your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he is my comrade.” + </p> + <p> + “He can play, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you play, Giacomo?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t take him till it’s time to go back,” thought Phil. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your brother?” he asked in a low tone of Phil. + </p> + <p> + “No, signore; it is my comrade.” + </p> + <p> + “So you go about together?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Phil, bethinking himself to use English instead of + Italian. + </p> + <p> + “He seems tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he is not so strong as I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you play about the streets all day?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “How would you like that, Henry?” asked his father to the boy at his side. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to play about the streets all day,” said Henry, roguishly, + misinterpreting the word “play.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you would get tired of it. What is your name, my boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is the name of your friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never go to school?” + </p> + <p> + Phil shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You would like it better than wandering about the streets all day?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you not ask your father to send you to school?” + </p> + <p> + “My father is in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “And his father, also?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore,” answered Phil, relapsing into Italian. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I would rather go to school.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you would.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you often out so late, Filippo? I think that is the name you gave + me.” + </p> + <p> + Phil shrugged his shoulders + </p> + <p> + “Always,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “At what time do you go home?” + </p> + <p> + “At eleven.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too late for a boy of your age to sit up. Why do you not go home + sooner?” + </p> + <p> + “The padrone would beat me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the padrone?” + </p> + <p> + “The man who brought me from Italy to America.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor boys!” said the gentleman, compassionately. “Yours is a hard life. I + hope some time you will be in a better position.” + </p> + <p> + Phil fixed his dark eyes upon the stranger, grateful for his words of + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” said the stranger, kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, signore.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have I slept, Filippo?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, and looking about him + in momentary bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Giacomo. You have slept for two hours and more. It is eleven + o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must go back.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; take your violin, and we will go.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you cold, Giacomo?” asked Phil, noticing how he trembled. + </p> + <p> + “I am very cold. I feel sick, Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + THE BOYS RECEPTION + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, harshly, “how much do you bring?” + </p> + <p> + The boys produced two dollars and a half which he pocketed. + </p> + <p> + “Is this all?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It was cold,” said Phil, “and we could not get more.” + </p> + <p> + The padrone listened with an ominous frown. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want your supper?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What would you like?” asked the padrone. + </p> + <p> + Again Phil was puzzled, for the suppers supplied by the padrone never + varied, always consisting of bread and cheese. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” continued the padrone, meeting no answer, “you would like to + have coffee and roast beef.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault,” he said, manfully. “Giacomo would not have gone in but + for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked, ungrateful boy!” exclaimed the padrone, wrathfully. “It was my + money that you spent. You are a thief!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say nothing?” exclaimed the padrone, stamping his foot. “Why + did you spend my money?” + </p> + <p> + “I was hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “So you must live like a nobleman! Our supper is not good enough for you. + How much did you spend?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty cents.” + </p> + <p> + “For each?” + </p> + <p> + “No, signore, for both.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you shall have each fifteen blows, one for each penny. I will teach + you to be a thief. Pietro, the stick! Now, strip!” + </p> + <p> + “Padrone,” said Phil, generously, “let me have all the blows. It was my + fault; Giacomo only went because I asked him.” + </p> + <p> + If the padrone had had a heart, this generous request would have touched + it; but he was not troubled in that way. + </p> + <p> + “He must be whipped, too,” he said. “He should not have gone with you.” + </p> + <p> + “He is sick, padrone,” persisted Phil. “Excuse him till he is better.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Put on your shirt!” commanded the tyrant. + </p> + <p> + Phil drew it on over his bleeding back and resumed his place among his + comrades. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said the padrone, beckoning to Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + The little boy approached shivering, not so much with cold as with the + fever that had already begun to prey upon him. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The first blow descended heavily upon the shrinking form of the little + victim. It was followed by a shriek of pain and terror. + </p> + <p> + “What are you howling at?” muttered the padrone, between his teeth. “I + will whip you the harder.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “He is sick,” said Phil, starting forward. + </p> + <p> + “He is no more sick than I am,” scowled the padrone. “Pietro, some water!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” demanded the padrone, harshly. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Do not beat me!” he pleaded. “I feel sick.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + GIACOMO’S PRESENTIMENTS + </h3> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Phil looked around for Giacomo, who had slept in a different room, but he + was not to be seen. + </p> + <p> + “Is Giacomo sick this morning, Pietro?” he asked of the padrone’s nephew. + </p> + <p> + “He pretends to be sick, little drone!” said Pietro, unfeelingly. “If I + were the padrone, I would let him taste the stick again.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Signor Pietro,” he said, “may I see Giacomo before I go out?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to see him for?” he asked, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask him how he feels.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can go in. Tell him he must get up to-morrow. The padrone will + not let him spend his time in idleness.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad it is you, Filippo,” he said; “I thought it was the padrone, + come to make me get up.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel this morning, Giacomo?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not feel well, Filippo. My back is sore, and I am so weak.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Your cheeks are very hot, Giacomo,” he said. “You are going to be sick.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, Filippo,” said the little boy. “I may be very sick.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not, Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + “Lean over, Filippo,” said Giacomo. “I want to tell you something.” + </p> + <p> + Phil leaned over until his ear was close to the mouth of his little + comrade. + </p> + <p> + “I think I am going to die, Filippo,” whispered Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + Phil started in dismay. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Giacomo,” he said; “that is nonsense. You will live a great many + years.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You are too young to die, Giacomo. It is only because you are sick that + you think of it. You will soon be better.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think so, Filippo. I should like to live for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go back to my home in Italy, and see my mother again + before I die. She loved me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “If you live, Giacomo, you will go back and see her some day.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Giacomo,” said Phil, affected by his little companion’s manner. + </p> + <p> + “Filippo!” called Pietro, in harsh tones. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” said Phil, starting to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me before you go,” said Giacomo. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Giacomo!” he thought. “I hope he will be well soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Avast there, boy!” someone called. “Just come to anchor, and give us a + tune.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Give us a tune, boy, and we’ll pay you,” said the second. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Go it, bluejacket! Go it, boots!” exclaimed the boys, designating them by + certain prominent articles of dress. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What’s all this disturbance?” he demanded, in tones of authority. + </p> + <p> + “We’re stretching our legs a little, shipmate,” said the first sailor. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’d better stretch them somewhere else than in the street.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought this was a free country,” hiccoughed the second. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll find it isn’t if I get hold of you,” said the officer. + </p> + <p> + “Want to fight?” demanded the second sailor, belligerently. + </p> + <p> + “Boy, stop playing,” said the policeman. “I don’t want to arrest these men + unless I am obliged to do it.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right, boy, isn’t it?” inquired the first. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + He put the money into the pocket of his ragged vest, and walked on. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + PHIL FINDS A CAPITALIST + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When Phil discovered his loss, he determined to run after the thief. + </p> + <p> + “Give me back my fiddle!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Phil?” he said, in a friendly manner. “Where have you kept + yourself? I have not seen you for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been fiddling,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t see your violin now. What has become of it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is broken—destroyed,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “How did that happen?” + </p> + <p> + Phil described the manner in which his violin had been stolen. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who stole it?” + </p> + <p> + “It was that boy who tried to take it once in the Park.” + </p> + <p> + “When I stopped him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I know him. It is Tim Rafferty. He is a mean boy; I will pay him up for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not care for it now,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “But what will your padrone say when you come home without it?” + </p> + <p> + “He would beat me, but I will not go home.” + </p> + <p> + “What will you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I will run away.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Away from New York. If I stay here the padrone would catch me.” + </p> + <p> + “How much did you earn with your fiddle when you had it?” + </p> + <p> + “Two dollars, if it was a good day.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like it,” said Phil; “but if I stay in the city the padrone + would get hold of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he any legal right to your services?” asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + Phil looked puzzled. He did not understand the question. + </p> + <p> + “I mean did your father sign any paper giving you to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil, comprehending now. + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose he could take you back. You think you must go away from + the city, then, Phil?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you think of going?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “You might go to Jersey—to Newark, which is quite a large city, only + ten miles from here.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go there.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I can sing.” + </p> + <p> + “But you would make more money with your fiddle.” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk to me in Italian, Phil; I no understand it.” + </p> + <p> + Phil laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You can speak English much better than most Italian boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Some cannot speak at all. Some speak french, because we all stayed in + Paris sometime before we came to America.” + </p> + <p> + “Parlez-vous Francais?” + </p> + <p> + “Oui, monsieur, un peu.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t. Those three words are all the French I know. But, I say, + Phil, you ought to have a fiddle.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have one. I should make more money.” + </p> + <p> + “How much would one cost?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not five dollars,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Phil, gratefully. “I will surely pay you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not cheat you, Signor Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “You must come back at twelve o’clock, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE TAMBOURINE GIRL + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Lucia!” he called, eagerly approaching the pair. + </p> + <p> + The girl turned quickly, and, seeing the young fiddler, let fall her + tambourine in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Filippo!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with the joy with which we + greet a friend’s face in a strange land. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you drop your tambourine, scelerata?” demanded the man, harshly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How long are you in the city?” asked Phil, speaking, of course, in his + native language. + </p> + <p> + “Only two weeks,” answered Lucia. “I am so glad to see you, Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you come from Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell. I think it is somewhere about two months.” + </p> + <p> + “And did you see my mother before you came away?” asked Phil, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she say that, Lucia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “And is my mother well?” asked Phil, anxiously, for he had a strong love + for his mother. + </p> + <p> + “She is well, Filippo—she is not sick, but she is thin, and she + looks sad.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go and see her some day,” said Phil. “I wish I could see her now.” + </p> + <p> + “When will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know; when I am older.” + </p> + <p> + “But where is your fiddle, Filippo?” asked Lucia. “Do you not play?” + </p> + <p> + Filippo glanced at the organ-grinder, whom he did not dare to take into + his confidence. So he answered, evasively: + </p> + <p> + “Another boy took it. I shall get another this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you with the padrone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Lucia,” said the man, roughly, ceasing to play, “we must go on.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Been buyin’ stocks?” asked Dick. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what they are,” said Phil, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a green one,” said Dick. “I shall have to take you into my bankin’ + house and give you some training in business.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got a bankin’ house?” asked Phil, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Shine your boots, sir?” said Dick to a gentleman just passing. + </p> + <p> + “Not now; I’m in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t understand such long words,” said Phil. “I don’t know much + English.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “A boy stole it from me, and broke it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to lick him. Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think his name was Tim Rafferty.” + </p> + <p> + “I know him,” said Dick. “I’ll give him a lickin’ next time I see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you?” asked Phil, doubtfully, for his enemy was as large as Dick. + </p> + <p> + “In course I can. My fists are like sledge-hammers. Jest feel my muscle.” + </p> + <p> + Dick straightened out his arm, and Phil felt of the muscle, which was hard + and firm. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He was angry because I didn’t want to lend it to him.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “There he is,” said Phil, suddenly espying his enemy. + </p> + <p> + Dick looked up, and saw with satisfaction that Phil was right. Tim had not + yet espied either, nor did he till Dick addressed him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you round collectin’ fiddles this mornin’?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m in a hurry,” said Tim. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not,” said Tim, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “What made you borrer this boy’s fiddle, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything about it,” said Tim, in a fright. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know,” said Tim, sullenly; “you’ve been there times enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I?” said Dick. “Maybe you saw me there. Was it the ninth time you + were there, or the tenth?” + </p> + <p> + “I never was there,” said Tim. + </p> + <p> + “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’.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe he had a fiddle at all,” said Tim. + </p> + <p> + “That’s where your forgetfulness comes in,” said Dick “Have you forgot the + lickin’ I gave you last summer for stealin’ my blackin’ box?” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t lick me,” said Tim. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll lick you harder next time,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + “You ain’t able,” said Tim, who, glancing over his shoulder, saw the + approach of a policeman, and felt secure. + </p> + <p> + “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’.” + </p> + <p> + Tim shuffled off, glad to get away unharmed, and Dick turned to Phil. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give him a lickin’ the first time I catch him, when there isn’t a + cop around,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + PHIL’S NEW PLANS + </h3> + <p> + As the clock struck twelve Phil reached the necktie stand of his friend, + Paul Hoffman. + </p> + <p> + “Just in time,” said Paul. “Are you hungry?” + </p> + <p> + “A little.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right. You’re going to dine with me; and I want you to bring a + good appetite with you.” + </p> + <p> + “What will your mother say?” asked Phil, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Wait and see. If you don’t like what she says you can go off without + eating. Where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + “I went down to Wall Street.” + </p> + <p> + “On business?” inquired Paul, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Phil, seriously. “I saw Lucia.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s lucky, Phil. I hope your mother is well.” + </p> + <p> + “She is not sick, but she is thin. She thinks of me,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Of course she does. You will go home and see her some day.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will,” said Paul, confidently. + </p> + <p> + “I saw the boy who stole my fiddle,” continued Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Tim Rafferty?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “I was with a bootblack—the one they call ‘Ragged Dick.’ Do you know + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I know Dick. He is a bully fellow, always joking.” + </p> + <p> + “Dick wanted to lick him, but a policeman came, and he went away.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Dick know that he stole your fiddle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he will be sure to punish him. It will save me the trouble.” + </p> + <p> + The walk was not long. Soon they were at Paul’s door. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought company to dinner, mother,” said Paul, entering first. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to see you, Phil,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Why have you not come + before?” + </p> + <p> + “How is that, Phil? Will you stay now?” said Paul. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hoffman looked at Paul inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Phil was afraid he would not be welcome,” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “He is always welcome,” said Mrs. Hoffman. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your fiddle?” asked Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + “A boy took it,” said Phil, “and threw it into the street, and a wagon + went over it and broke it.” + </p> + <p> + Jimmy was quite indignant for his friend, when the story had been told. + </p> + <p> + “It’s lucky for Tim Rafferty that he is not here,” said Paul, “or he might + suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “If I was a big boy I’d lick him,” said Jimmy, belligerently. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw you so warlike before, Jimmy,” said Paul. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to have for dinner, mother?” asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, Paul, that I have no warm meat. I have some cold roast beef, + some hot potatoes, and an apple pudding.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to leave the padrone?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, with interest. + </p> + <p> + “Si, signora,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Will he let you go?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall run away,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume so,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling. “I do not think I am very + severe.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you spoil the rod and spare the child.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Phil going to stay in the city?” + </p> + <p> + “No; the padrone would get hold of him if he did. He is going to New + Jersey to make his fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “But he will need a fiddle.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I make two dollars,” answered Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where will you sleep, Phil?” asked Jimmy, interested. + </p> + <p> + Phil shrugged his shoulders. He had not thought of that question + particularly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” he said. “I can sleep anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He is too young to be married,” said Jimmy, who, it will be perceived, + understood everything literally. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It is all ready except peeling the potatoes, Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Paul,” expostulated Jimmy, feeling aggrieved at this charge, “you + know I don’t eat as much as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear him talk, Phil. I don’t eat more than enough to keep a fly alive.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be a pretty large fly, Paul,” said Jimmy, slyly. + </p> + <p> + “Good joke, Jimmy. Mother, you must give Jimmy twelve potatoes to-day + instead of the ten he usually eats.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Phil, stay,” said Paul. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He expressed this fear. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid the padrone would catch me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He looked up sharply, as Paul and Phil entered, and scanned them closely + with his ferret-like eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + THE FASHIONABLE PARTY + </h3> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What will you give me on this coat?” asked Paul, indicating the one he + had on. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Eliakim scanned the garment critically. It was nearly new and in excellent + condition, and he coveted it. + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a dollar,” said he, naming a price low enough to advance + upon. + </p> + <p> + “That is too little,” said Paul, shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “I might give you fifty cents more, but I should lose if you didn’t redeem + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you would. I paid ten dollars for it.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is old.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn’t; I have only had it a few weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “How much do you want on it?” asked Eliakim, scanning Paul sharply, to see + how much he seemed in want of money. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want any to-day. If I should want some next week, I will come + in.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be older next week,” said Eliakim, not wanting to lose the + bargain, for he hoped it would not be redeemed. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; I can get along till then.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I do no business with you this morning?” asked Eliakim, disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you sell it, then?” demanded Paul, who did not believe a word + of this. + </p> + <p> + “Because it was only pawned. I kept it for the owner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well; if you can’t sell it, it doesn’t matter.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It don’t sound very well,” said he, indifferently; “but I suppose it will + do to learn on. What do you want for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Five dollars,” said Eliakim, studying the face of Paul, to observe the + effect of his announcement. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + But the pawnbroker did not expect to get his first price. He named it, in + order to have a chance to fall. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” he said, as Paul made a motion to leave; “what will you give me + for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give you a dollar and a half,” said Paul, turning back. + </p> + <p> + “A dollar and a half!” exclaimed Eliakim, holding up both hands in horror. + “Do you want to ruin me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I think you want to ruin me. I am willing to pay a fair price.” + </p> + <p> + “You may have it for three dollars and a half.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you’d be glad to get that. Come, Phil, we’ll go.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay; you may have it for three dollars, though I shall lose by it.” + </p> + <p> + “So should I, if I paid you that price. I can wait till some other time.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You may have it for two dollars and a half,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give you two dollars and a quarter,” he said, “and not a penny + more.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Paul; “hand it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is the money?” asked Eliakim, cautiously. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Phil, we may as well go,” said Paul. “We’ve got through our + business.” + </p> + <p> + The pawnbroker heard this, and a sudden suspicion entered his mind that + Paul had been too sharp for him. + </p> + <p> + “I might have got twenty-five cents more,” he thought regretfully; and + this thought disturbed the complacency he felt at first. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Phil, how do you like it?” asked Paul, as they emerged into the + street. + </p> + <p> + “Let me try it,” said Phil, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + He struck up a tune, which he played through, his face expressing the + satisfaction he felt. + </p> + <p> + “Is it as good as your old one?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No, Phil,” said his friend, “you may need that money. Keep it, and pay me + when you have more.” + </p> + <p> + “But I shall be away.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind to me, Paolo,” said Phil, raising his dark eyes with a + sudden impulse of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing, Phil,” said Paul, modestly; “you would do the same for me + if I needed it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I would,” said Phil; “but I am poor, and I cannot help you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Phil laughed, but still seemed pleased at the prophecy. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Addio, Paolo,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Addio,” said Paul, laughing. “Wouldn’t I make a good Italian?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I hope he won’t see me,” said Phil to himself. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a beautiful fiddle!” said Jimmy, in admiration, as Phil + reappeared. “Do you think I could play on it?” + </p> + <p> + Phil shook his head, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you play something?” asked Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it is usual to describe the dresses of the ladies,” said Mrs. + Hoffman, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I won’t forget that. Just give me a piece of paper and see how I + will do it.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know you had so much talent for reporting, Paul,” said his + mother. “You forgot one thing, however.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “You said nothing of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I was too modest, mother. However, if you insist upon it, I will do so. + Anything at all to please you.” + </p> + <p> + Paul resumed his writing and in a short time had the following: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have got over your modesty, Paul,” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + “I am sleepy,” said Jimmy, drowsily rubbing his eyes. + </p> + <p> + As this expressed the general feeling, they retired to bed at once, and in + half an hour were wandering in the land of dreams. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + THE PADRONE IS ANXIOUS + </h3> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil; “he will be very angry because I did not come back last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he think you have run away?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. Some of the boys stay away sometimes, because they are too + far off to come home.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he may expect you to-night. I suppose he will have a beating ready + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he would beat me very hard,” said Phil, “if he thought I did not + mean to come back.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go and tell him that he need not expect you. I should + like to see how he looks.” + </p> + <p> + “He might beat you, too, Paolo.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see him try it,” said Paul, straightening up with a + consciousness of strength. “He might find that rather hard.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not often so late, Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t got anything to shave,” said Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “When shall we see you again, Philip?” said Mrs. Hoffman. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” said the little minstrel. + </p> + <p> + “Shall you not come to the city sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid the padrone would catch me,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Philip,” said Mrs. Hoffman, offering her hand. “I hope you will + prosper.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I, Phil,” said Jimmy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile we return to the house which Phil had forsaken, and inquire what + effect was produced by his non-appearance. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen Filippo?” he asked, addressing his nephew. + </p> + <p> + “No, signore,” answered Pietro. “Filippo has not come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he has run away?” asked the padrone, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any reason to think he intended to run away?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “I should not like to lose him. He brings me more money than most of the + boys.” + </p> + <p> + “He may come in yet.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Pietro, with a sudden thought, “there is Giacomo.” + </p> + <p> + “The sick boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Filippo went in this morning to speak to him. He might have told him + then.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true. I will go and ask him.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Giacomo?” he demanded, harshly. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am, signore padrone,” answered the little boy, trembling, as he + always did when addressed by the tyrant. + </p> + <p> + “Did Filippo come and speak with you this morning, before he went out?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He asked me how I felt.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you tell him?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him I felt sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him I thought I should die.’ + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said the padrone, harshly; “you are a coward. You have a + little cold, that is all. Did he say anything about running away?” + </p> + <p> + “No, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t tell me a lie!” said the tyrant, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you the truth, signore padrone. Has not Filippo come home?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think he has run away,” said the little boy. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he would tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “So you two are friends, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t beat him, padrone,” pleaded Giacomo, bursting into tears. “Perhaps + he cannot come home.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he ever speak to you of running away?” asked the padrone, with a + sudden thought. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you not speak? Did you hear my question?” asked the padrone, with + a threatening gesture. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear that, Pietro?” said the padrone, turning to his nephew. “The + little wretch has doubtless run away.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + PHIL ELUDES HIS PURSUER + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I will go down to the Cortlandt Street Ferry with you, Phil,” said Paul. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have you, if it will not take you from your business, + Paolo.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he will send Pietro to find me,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Pietro?” + </p> + <p> + Phil explained that Pietro was the padrone’s nephew and assisted in + oppressing the boys. + </p> + <p> + “I hope he will send him,” said Paul. + </p> + <p> + Phil looked up in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see this Pietro. What would he do if he should find + you?” + </p> + <p> + “He would take me back.” + </p> + <p> + “If you did not want to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t help it,” said Phil, shrugging his shoulders. “He is much + bigger than I.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he bigger than I am?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he is as big.” + </p> + <p> + “He isn’t big enough to take you away if I am with you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I should not be afraid if you were with me, Paolo,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Phil,” said Paul, approvingly. “But here we are at the + ferry.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Paul paid the regular toll, and passed through the portal with Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going with me?” asked the little fiddler, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, Paolo.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Phil clutched at Paul’s arm, and pointed to him in evident excitement. + </p> + <p> + “It is Pietro,” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “So that is Pietro, is it?” said Paul, regarding him attentively in order + to fix his face in his memory. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Paolo,” said Phil, his eyes fixed nervously upon his pursuer, who + maintained his place, and was watching him with equal attention. + </p> + <p> + “You are not frightened, Phil, are you?” + </p> + <p> + Phil admitted that he was. + </p> + <p> + “He will come over in the next boat,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But he will not know where you are.” + </p> + <p> + “He will seek me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Phil felt relieved by this intelligence, but still he was nervous. Knowing + well Pietro’s malice, he dreaded the chances of his capturing him. + </p> + <p> + “He stays there. He does not go away,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He may go in the cars, too,” suggested Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do what you say, Paolo. It will be better.” + </p> + <p> + They soon reached the Jersey shore. The railroad station was close by. + They went thither at once, and Phil bought a ticket for Newark. + </p> + <p> + “How soon will the cars start?” inquired Paul of a railway official. + </p> + <p> + “In five minutes,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go, Paolo.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-by, Phil, and good luck,” said Paul, cheerfully. “If you ever + come to New York, come to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Paolo, I will be sure to come.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Paolo. I will remember your kindness always,” said the little + fiddler, gratefully. + </p> + <p> + “That is all right, Phil. Good-by!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Your little brother?” repeated Paul, deliberately. + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore, a little boy with a fiddle. He was so high;” and Pietro + indicated the height of Phil correctly by his hand. + </p> + <p> + “There was a boy came over in the boat with me,” said Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; he is the one, signore,” said Pietro, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “And he is your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me where he has gone?” asked Pietro, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t he tell you where he was going?” asked Paul, in turn. + </p> + <p> + “I think he means to run away,” said Pietro. “Did you see where he went?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a little rascal,” said Pietro. “He is treated well, but he is a + thief.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are his brother,” repeated Paul, significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see where he went?” asked Pietro, getting angry. “I want to take + him back to his father.” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know?” returned Paul, coolly. “Do you think I have nothing + to do but to look after your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” said Pietro, incensed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + PIETRO’S PURSUIT + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “In an hour,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + It would be an hour, therefore, before Pietro could reach Newark. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How’s business, boy?” asked a young man who stood at the door in his + shirt-sleeves, and was evidently employed in the grocery. + </p> + <p> + “That is all I have taken,” said Phil, showing the eight cents. + </p> + <p> + “Did you come from New York this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you haven’t got enough to pay for your ticket yet?” + </p> + <p> + Phil shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you’ll make your fortune out here.” + </p> + <p> + Phil was of precisely the same opinion, but kept silent. + </p> + <p> + “You would have done better to stay in New York.” + </p> + <p> + To this also Phil mentally assented, but there were imperative reasons, as + we know, for leaving the great city. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going farther?” asked the same young man who had questioned him + before. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go back to Newark to-night,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Let me try your violin.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you play?” asked Phil, doubtfully, for he feared that an unpracticed + player might injure the instrument. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can play. I’ve got a fiddle at home myself.” + </p> + <p> + Our hero surrendered his fiddle to the young man, who played passably. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got a pretty good fiddle,” he said. “I think it’s better than + mine. Can you play any dancing tunes?” + </p> + <p> + Phil knew one or two, and played them. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not know where to sleep,” said Phil, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we’ve got beds enough in our house. Will you stay?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Phil, who had been sitting near the stove, prepared to accompany him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + After five minutes’ walk they stopped at a comfortable two-story house + near the roadside. + </p> + <p> + “That’s where I put up,” said Edwin. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and entered, followed by Phil, who felt a little + bashful, knowing that he was not expected. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He is welcome,” said Mrs. Grover, cheerfully, “We can make room for him. + He is an Italian, I suppose. What is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “I will call you Philip. I suppose that is the English name. Will you lay + down your violin and draw up to the fire?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not cold,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It will be ready at once. There is your father coming in at the front + gate, and Henry with him.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast the next morning Phil left the house, with a cordial + invitation to call again when he happened to be passing. + </p> + <p> + Before proceeding with his adventures, we must go back to Pietro. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Seeing two boys playing in the street, he inquired: “Have you seen + anything of my little brother?” + </p> + <p> + “What does he look like?” inquired one. + </p> + <p> + “He is not quite so large as you. He had a fiddle with him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you, Dick?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other, “there was a boy went along with a fiddle.” + </p> + <p> + This was true, but, as we know, it was not Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see where he went?” demanded Pietro, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Straight ahead,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Disappointed, Pietro now turned back, and bent his steps to the ferry. But + he saw nothing of Phil on the way. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you find him, Pietro?” he asked as soon as his nephew entered his + presence. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him,” said Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you not bring him back?” + </p> + <p> + Pietro explained the reason. His uncle listened attentively. + </p> + <p> + “Pietro, you are a fool,” he said, at length. + </p> + <p> + “Why am I a fool?” asked Pietro, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Because you sought Filippo where he is not.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you were a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow you must go to Newark. That is the first large town. I must + have Filippo back.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” said Pietro, briefly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + PIETRO’S DISAPPOINTMENT + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What a handsome boy!” she said to her companion. + </p> + <p> + “Some pennies for music,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “How old are you?” asked the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Twelve years.” + </p> + <p> + “Just the age of my Johnny. If I give you some money what will you do with + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will buy dinner,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “I never give to vagrants,” said the second lady, a spinster of uncertain + age, who did not share her niece’s partiality for children. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t his fault if he is a vagrant, Aunt Maria,” said the younger + lady. + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt he is a thief,” continued Aunt Maria, with acerbity. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a thief,” said Phil, indignantly, for he understood very well + the imputation, and he replaced his cap on his head. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you are,” said the first lady; “here, take this,” and she + put in his hand twenty-five cents. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, signora,” said Phil, with a grateful smile. + </p> + <p> + “That money is thrown away,” said the elderly lady; “you are very + indiscriminate in your charity, Eleanor.” + </p> + <p> + “It is better to give too much than too little, Aunt Maria, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t give to unworthy objects.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know this boy is an unworthy object?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a young vagrant.” + </p> + <p> + “Can he help it? It is the way he makes his living.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When Pietro prepared to leave the lodging-house in the morning, the + padrone called loudly to him. + </p> + <p> + “Pietro,” said he, “you must find Filippo today.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I go?” asked Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, signore padrone.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good; then you need no directions.” + </p> + <p> + “If I do not find him in Newark, where shall I go?” + </p> + <p> + “He is in Newark,” said the padrone, confidently. “He will not leave it.” + </p> + <p> + He judged that Phil would consider himself safe there, and would prefer to + remain in a city rather than go into the country. + </p> + <p> + “I will do my best,” said Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “I expect you to bring him back to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, scelerato, I have you now,” he exclaimed to himself. “To-night you + shall feel the stick.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” called out Pietro. “Stop, or I will kill you!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” called Pietro, furiously, beginning to realize that the victory + was not yet won. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What do ye want?” she demanded, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Save me!” cried Phil, out of breath. “Someone is chasing me. He is bad. + He will beat me.” + </p> + <p> + The woman’s sympathies were quickly enlisted. She had a warm heart, and + was always ready to give aid to the oppressed. + </p> + <p> + “Whist, darlint, run upstairs, and hide under the bed. I’ll send him off + wid a flea in his ear, whoever he is.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I want my brother,” said Pietro, drawing back a little before the amazon + who disputed his passage. + </p> + <p> + “Go and find him, thin!” said Bridget McGuire, “and kape out of my house.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is here,” said Pietro, angrily; “I saw him come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, one of the family is enough,” said Bridget. “I don’t want another. + Lave here wid you!” + </p> + <p> + “Give me my brother, then!” said Pietro, provoked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything of your brother. If he looks like you, he’s a + beauty, sure,” returned Mrs. McGuire. + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me look for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Faith and I won’t. You may call him if you plase.” + </p> + <p> + Pietro knew that this would do very little good, but there seemed nothing + else to do. + </p> + <p> + “Filippo!” he called; “come here. The padrone has sent for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What was ye sayin’?” demanded Bridget not comprehending the Italian. + </p> + <p> + “I told my brother to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can go out and wait for him,” said she. “I don’t want you in the + house.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Will you give me my brother?” demanded Pietro, forced to use words where + he would willingly have used blows. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got your brother.” + </p> + <p> + “He is in this house.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + THE SIEGE + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Pietro?” he asked, as his hostess appeared in the chamber. + </p> + <p> + “I druv him out of the house,” said Bridget, triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “Then he won’t come up here?” interrogated Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Phil breathed freer. He saw that he was rescued from immediate danger. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he now?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s outside watching for you. He’ll have to wait till you come out.” + </p> + <p> + “May I stay here till he goes?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, and you may,” said the warm-hearted Irishwoman. “You’re as welcome + as flowers in May. Are you hungry?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” said Phil. “I have eaten my dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you try a bit of bread and cold mate now?” she asked, hospitably. + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind,” said Phil, gratefully, “but I am not hungry. I only + want to get away from Pietro.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the haythen’s name? Sure I niver heard it before.” + </p> + <p> + “It is Peter in English.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you be kind enough to tell me when he goes away?” asked Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Sure I will. Rest aisy, darlint. He shan’t get hold of you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be even wid him,” said Bridget to herself exultingly. “I’ll tache + him to prowl around my house.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is it there ye are?” she said, in affected surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do that?” demanded Pietro, finding enough English to express + his indignation. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Send out my brother, then,” said Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no brother of yours inside,” said Mrs. McGuire. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a lie!” said Pietro, angrily stamping his foot. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother is in the house,” reiterated Pietro, doggedly. + </p> + <p> + “He is no brother of yours—he says so.” + </p> + <p> + “He lies,” said Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “Shure and it’s somebody else lies, I’m thinkin’,” said Bridget. + </p> + <p> + “Is he in the house?” demanded Pietro, finding it difficult to argue with + Phil’s protector. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see him,” said Bridget, shrewdly, turning and glancing round the + room. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll call the police,” said Pietro, trying to intimidate his adversary. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to see some fun now?” she asked, her face covered by a + broad smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Open the windy, aisy, so he won’t hear.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Bridget, “take this dipper and give him the binifit of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let him see you do it,” cautioned his protector. + </p> + <p> + Phil took the idea and the dipper at once. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Will ye go now, or will ye stand jist where I throw the hot water?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I told you to go,” she said. “I’ve got some more wather inside.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + THE SIEGE IS RAISED + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll know the house next time, mister,” said a sharp boy. + </p> + <p> + Pietro was about to answer angrily, when a thought struck him. + </p> + <p> + “Will you do something for me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “How much?” inquired the boy, suggestively. + </p> + <p> + “Five cents,” answered Pietro, understanding his meaning. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t much,” said the boy, reflectively. “Tell me what you want.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Armed with these instructions, the boy went round to the back door and + knocked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want?” she asked, abruptly, seeing that it was a boy. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s gone?” + </p> + <p> + “The man with the hand-organ, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “And what for do I care?” demanded Bridget, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you to tell the man was gone?” asked Bridget, with a shrewdness + worthy of a practitioner at the bar. + </p> + <p> + “The Italian told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he?” repeated Bridget, who saw into the trick at once. “He’s very + kind.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t want you to know he told me,” said the boy, remembering his + instructions when it was too late. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. McGuire nodded her head intelligently. + </p> + <p> + “True for you,” said she. “What did he pay you for tellin’ me?” + </p> + <p> + “Five cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Thin it’s five cints lost. Do you want to earn another five cints?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the boy, promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Thin do what I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Come in and I’ll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The boy having entered, Mrs. McGuire led him to the front door. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the five cents?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said Bridget, and diving into the depths of a capacious pocket, + she drew out five pennies. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” said the boy. “Now, open the door.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Now run,” she said, in a lower voice. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you run?” she said. “You can catch him.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t my brother,” he answered, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you was gone,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I am waiting for my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for an answer, Bridget shut the door, and bolted it—leaving + her enemy routed at all points. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You may come down now,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Is he gone?” inquired Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Shure he’s runnin’ up the street as fast as his legs can carry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for saving me from him,” said, Phil, with a great sense of + relief at the flight of his enemy. + </p> + <p> + “Whisht now; I don’t nade any thanks. Come down by the fire now.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no home now,” said Phil, with tears in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And have you no father and mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil. “They live in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did they let you go so far away?” + </p> + <p> + “They were poor, and the padrone offered them money,” answered Phil, + forced to answer, though the subject was an unpleasant one. + </p> + <p> + “And did they know he was a bad man and would bate you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think they knew,” said Phil, with hesitation. “My mother did not + know.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “In New York.” + </p> + <p> + “And does Peter—or whatever the haythen’s name is—live there + too?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is your name? Is it Peter, like his?” + </p> + <p> + “No; my name is Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a quare name.” + </p> + <p> + “American boys call me Phil.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s my name in English.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Play us a tune,” said Pat, the oldest. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + A PITCHED BATTLE + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Pietro,” said the padrone, harshly, “where is Filippo?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not with me,” answered Pietro, in an embarrassed manner. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you see him then?” demanded his uncle, hastily. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore, I saw him,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Then why didn’t you drag him home?” demanded his uncle, with contracted + brow. “Didn’t I tell you to bring him home?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore, but I could not.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Then you didn’t want to bring him? Come, you are not too old for the + stick yet.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak on, then,” said his uncle; but his tone was cold and incredulous. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What could I do?” pleaded Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “It was her house,” said Pietro. “She would call the police.” + </p> + <p> + “So could you. You could say it was your brother you sought. There was no + difficulty. Do you think Filippo is there yet?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll get work ag’in soon, maybe,” said Pat, encouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Shure you will.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I don’t, I’ll help you wash,” said her husband, humorously. + </p> + <p> + “Shure you’d spoil the clothes,” said Bridget, laughing. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Phil thanked Mrs. McGuire for her kindness, and prepared + to go away. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like it,” said Phil, “but——” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “Pietro will come for me.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he does, my Pat will kick him out of doors.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Phil dashed breathless into the kitchen, where Mrs. McGuire was ironing. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The padrone—Pietro and the padrone!” exclaimed Phil, pale with + affright. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. McGuire took in the situation at once. + </p> + <p> + “Run upstairs,” she said. “Pat’s up there on the bed. He will see they + won’t take you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matther?” he asked, repeating his wife’s question. + </p> + <p> + “They have come for me,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Have they?” said Pat. “Then they’ll go back, I’m thinkin’. Where are + they?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + They met Mrs. McGuire at the door. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “The boy,” said the padrone. “I saw him come in here.” + </p> + <p> + “Did ye? Your eyes is sharp thin.” + </p> + <p> + She stood directly in the passage, so that neither could enter without + brushing her aside. + </p> + <p> + “Send him out,” said the padrone. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, and I won’t,” said Bridget. “He shall stay here as long as he + likes.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come in and take him,” said the padrone, furiously. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t advise ye to thry it,” said Mrs. McGuire, coolly. + </p> + <p> + “Move aside, woman, or I will make you,” said the Italian, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll stay where I am. Shure, it’s my own house, and I have a right to do + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pietro,” said the padrone, with sudden thought, “he may escape from the + front door. Go round and watch it.” + </p> + <p> + By his sign Bridget guessed what he said, though it was spoken in Italian. + </p> + <p> + “He won’t run away,” she said. “I’ll tell you where he is, if you want to + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” asked the padrone, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “He’s upstairs, thin.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the boy!” gasped the padrone. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t have him, thin!” said Pat “You want to bate him, you murderin’ + ould villain!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Will you, thin?” demanded Pat. “Thin the sooner you do it the betther. + Open the window, Phil!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Shure, they won’t come for you again in a hurry, Phil, darlint!” she + said. “They’ve got all they want, I’m thinkin’.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE DEATH OF GIACOMO + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Pietro, too, was silent, partly for the same reasons which influenced the + padrone, partly because he was afraid of offending his uncle. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he went to the little boy’s bedside. + </p> + <p> + Giacomo was breathing faintly. His face was painfully thin, his eyes + preternaturally bright. He spoke faintly, but his mind seemed to be + wandering. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Filippo?” he said. “I want to see Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + In this wish the padrone heartily concurred. He, too, would have been glad + to see Filippo, but the pleasure would not have been mutual. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want to see Filippo?” he demanded, in his customary harsh + tone. + </p> + <p> + Giacomo heard and answered, though unconscious who spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “I want to kiss him before I die,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think you are going to die?” said the tyrant, struck by + the boy’s appearance. + </p> + <p> + “I am so weak,” murmured Giacomo. “Stoop down, Filippo. I want to tell you + something in your ear.” + </p> + <p> + Moved by curiosity rather than humanity, the padrone stooped over, and + Giacomo whispered: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me, Filippo,” said the dying boy. + </p> + <p> + One of the boys who stood nearby, with tears in his eyes, bent over and + kissed him. + </p> + <p> + 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) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Though he was at an age when boys enjoy play better than work or study, he + had no opportunity to join in their games. + </p> + <p> + One of the boys, observing him, came up and said frankly, “Do you want to + play with us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phil, brightening up, “I should like to.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, then.” + </p> + <p> + Phil looked at his fiddle and hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll take care of your fiddle for you. Here, this tree is hollow; + just put it inside, and nobody will touch it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he let me?” asked Phil, pointing to the teacher. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure he will. Come along.” + </p> + <p> + Phil took his fiddle from its hiding-place in the interior of the tree, + and walked beside his companion into the schoolroom. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But he was soon reassured by the pleasant tone in which he was addressed. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name, my young friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Filippo.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an Italian, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “Does that mean ‘Yes, sir’?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Phil, remembering to speak English. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your violin?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you live?” + </p> + <p> + Phil hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I am traveling,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “You are young to travel alone. How long have you been in this country?” + </p> + <p> + “A year.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you been traveling about all that time?” + </p> + <p> + “No, signore; I have lived in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you have not gone to school?” + </p> + <p> + “No, signore.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am glad to see you here; I shall be glad to have you stay and + listen to our exercises.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + After a time, recess came. Then the boys gathered around, and asked Phil + to play them a tune. + </p> + <p> + “Will he let me?” asked the young fiddler, again referring to the teacher. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + PHIL FINDS A FRIEND + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He sat this evening in his library, in dressing-gown and slippers, his + wife nearby engaged in some needlework. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won’t be called out this evening, Joseph,” said Mrs. Drayton, + as a gust of wind tattled the window panes. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The snow must be quite deep.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it has been postponed till to-morrow evening.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be better. The weather and walking will both be better. Shall + we go, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish it,” she said, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are right, Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Just then the bell was heard to ring. + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is not for you, Joseph,” said his wife, apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid it is,” said the doctor, with a look of resignation. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it would be too good luck for me to have the whole evening to + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were not a doctor,” said Mrs. Drayton. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Here the servant opened the door, ushering in a farm laborer. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Abner,” said the doctor, recognizing him, as, indeed, he + knew every face within half a dozen miles. “Anything amiss at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Felton is took with spasms,” said Abner. “Can you come right over?” + </p> + <p> + “What have you done for her?” + </p> + <p> + “Put her feet in warm water, and put her to bed. Can you come right over?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Orders were sent out to put the horse to the sleigh. This was quickly + done, and the doctor, fully accoutered, walked to the door. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be back as soon as I can, Mary,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “That won’t be very soon. It is a good two-miles’ ride.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t loiter on the way, you may be sure of that. Abner, I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He, too, no doubt shared the doctor’s hope that this was the last service + required of him before the morrow. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively he reined up his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, “it must be a boy. God grant he is not + frozen!” + </p> + <p> + He leaped from his sleigh, and lifted the insensible body. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Drayton was alarmed when her husband entered the sitting-room, + bearing Phil’s insensible form. + </p> + <p> + She jumped to her feet in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it, Joseph?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “A poor Italian boy, whom I found by the side of the road.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he dead?” asked the doctor’s wife, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I think not. I will restore him if there is any life left in him.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where am I?” he asked faintly, when he opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You are with friends, my boy. Don’t ask questions now. In the morning, + you may ask as many as you like.” + </p> + <p> + Phil closed his eyes languidly, and soon fell into a sound sleep. + </p> + <p> + Nature was doing her work well and rapidly. + </p> + <p> + In the morning Phil woke up almost wholly restored. + </p> + <p> + As he opened his eyes, he met the kind glances of the doctor and his wife. + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel this morning?” asked the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I feel well,” said Phil, looking around him with curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you could eat some breakfast?” asked Dr. Drayton, with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Phil. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Phil shuddered. He remembered it only too well. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my fiddle?” asked Phil, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “It is safe. There it is on the piano.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Joseph,” she said, addressing her husband, “I want to speak to you a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + He followed her out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask a favor.” + </p> + <p> + “It is granted in advance.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will not say so when you know what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I can guess it. You want to keep this boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you willing?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Joseph. It will make me happy. Whatever I do for him, I will + do for my lost darling.” + </p> + <p> + They went back into the room. They found Phil with his cap on and his + fiddle under his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Philip?” asked the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I am going into the street. I thank you for your kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you not rather stay with us?” + </p> + <p> + Phil looked up, uncertain of his meaning. + </p> + <p> + “We had a boy once, but he is dead. Will you stay with us and be our boy?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I will stay,” he said. “You are very kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_CONC" id="link2H_CONC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + This is the way it happened: + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I should like it very much,” he answered, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Then run upstairs and get ready. I shall start in fifteen minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Phil started, and then turned back. + </p> + <p> + “I might meet Pietro, or the padrone,” he said, hesitating. + </p> + <p> + “No matter if you do, I shall be with you. If they attempt to recover you, + I will summon the police.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor spoke so confidently that Phil dismissed his momentary fear. + Two hours later they set foot in New York. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see Paul Hoffman,” said Phil. “I owe him two dollars and + a half for the fiddle.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall be paid,” said the doctor. “He shall lose nothing by trusting + you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is Pietro,” he said, quickly, touching the arm of his companion. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I have got you at last, scelerato,” said Pietro, roughly, grasping Phil + by the shoulder with a hostile glance. + </p> + <p> + The doctor instantly seized him by the collar, and hurled him back. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by assaulting my son?” he demanded, coolly. + </p> + <p> + Pietro was rather astonished at this unexpected attack. + </p> + <p> + “He is my brother,” he said. “He must go back with me.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not your brother. If you touch him again, I will hand you to the + police.” + </p> + <p> + “He ran away from my uncle,” said Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “Your uncle should have treated him better.” + </p> + <p> + “He stole a fiddle,” said Pietro, doggedly. + </p> + <p> + “He had paid for it over and over again,” said the doctor. “Phil, come + along. We have no further business with this young man.” + </p> + <p> + They walked on, but Pietro followed at a little distance. Seeing this, Dr. + Drayton turned back. + </p> + <p> + “Young man,” he said, “do you see that policeman across the street?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, signore,” answered Pietro. + </p> + <p> + “Then I advise you to go in a different direction, or I shall request him + to follow you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Phil,” he exclaimed, grasping his hand heartily, “I am very glad to see + you. Have you made a fortune?” + </p> + <p> + “He has found a father,” said Dr. Drayton, speaking for Phil, “who wants + to thank you for your past kindness to his son.” + </p> + <p> + “It was nothing,” said Paul, modestly. + </p> + <p> + “It was a great deal to Phil, for, except your family, he had no friends.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +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-h.htm or 671-h.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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