Phil, the Fiddler Part 15

Phil shrugged his shoulders

"Always," he answered.

"At what time do you go home?"

"At eleven."

"It is too late for a boy of your age to sit up. Why do you not go home sooner?"

"The padrone would beat me."

"Who is the padrone?"

"The man who brought me from Italy to America."

"Poor boys!" said the gentleman, compa.s.sionately. "Yours is a hard life.

I hope some time you will be in a better position."

Phil fixed his dark eyes upon the stranger, grateful for his words of sympathy.

"Thank you," he said.

"Good-night," said the stranger, kindly.

"Good-night, signore."

An hour pa.s.sed. The City Hall clock near by struck eleven. The time had come for returning to their mercenary guardian. Phil shook the sleeping form of Giacomo. The little boy stirred in his sleep, and murmured, "Madre." He had been dreaming of his mother and his far-off Italian home. He woke to the harsh realities of life, four thousand miles away from that mother and home.

"Have I slept, Filippo?" he asked, rubbing his eyes, and looking about him in momentary bewilderment.

"Yes, Giacomo. You have slept for two hours and more. It is eleven o'clock."

"Then we must go back."

"Yes; take your violin, and we will go."

They pa.s.sed out into the cold street, which seemed yet colder by contrast with the warm hotel they just left, and, crossing to the sidewalk that skirts the park, walked up Centre street.

Giacomo was seized with a fit of trembling. His teeth chattered with the cold. A fever was approaching, although neither he nor his companion knew it.

"Are you cold, Giacomo?" asked Phil, noticing how he trembled.

"I am very cold. I feel sick, Filippo."

"You will feel better to-morrow," said Phil; but the thought of the beating which his little comrade was sure to receive saddened him more than the prospect of being treated in the same way himself.

They kept on their way, past the Tombs with its gloomy entrance, through the ill-lighted street, scarcely noticed by the policeman whom they pa.s.sed--for he was accustomed to see boys of their cla.s.s out late at night--until at last they reached the dwelling of the padrone, who was waiting their arrival with the eagerness of a brutal nature, impatient to inflict pain.

CHAPTER XI

THE BOYS RECEPTION

Phil and Giacomo entered the lodging-house, wholly unconscious of the threatening storm, The padrone scowled at them as they entered but that was nothing unusual. Had he greeted them kindly, they would have had reason to be surprised.

"Well," he said, harshly, "how much do you bring?"

The boys produced two dollars and a half which he pocketed.

"Is this all?" he asked.

"It was cold," said Phil, "and we could not get more."

The padrone listened with an ominous frown.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "Do you want your supper?"

Phil was puzzled by his manner, for he expected to be deprived of his supper on account of bringing less money than usual. Why should the padrone ask him if he wanted his supper? Though he was not hungry, he thought it best to answer in the affirmative.

"What would you like?" asked the padrone.

Again Phil was puzzled, for the suppers supplied by the padrone never varied, always consisting of bread and cheese.

"Perhaps," continued the padrone, meeting no answer, "you would like to have coffee and roast beef."

All was clear now. Phil understood that he had been seen going in or out of the restaurant, though he could not tell by whom. He knew well enough what to expect, but a chivalrous feeling of friends.h.i.+p led him to try to s.h.i.+eld his young companion, even at the risk of a more severe punishment to be inflicted upon himself.

"It was my fault," he said, manfully. "Giacomo would not have gone in but for me."

"Wicked, ungrateful boy!" exclaimed the padrone, wrathfully. "It was my money that you spent. You are a thief!"

Phil felt that this was a hard word, which he did not deserve. The money was earned by himself, though claimed by the padrone. But he did not venture to say this. It would have been revolutionary. He thought it prudent to be silent.

"Why do you say nothing?" exclaimed the padrone, stamping his foot. "Why did you spend my money?"

"I was hungry."

"So you must live like a n.o.bleman! Our supper is not good enough for you. How much did you spend?"

"Thirty cents."

"For each?"

"No, signore, for both."

"Then you shall have each fifteen blows, one for each penny. I will teach you to be a thief. Pietro, the stick! Now, strip!"

"Padrone," said Phil, generously, "let me have all the blows. It was my fault; Giacomo only went because I asked him."