Phil, the Fiddler by Jr. Horatio Alger (ereader for comics .TXT) 📕

nor inviting. But it was democratic. No customers were sent away because they were unfashionably attired. The only requisite was money enough to defray their bills. Nevertheless Giacomo felt a little in awe even of the dirty waiters. His frugal meals were usually bought at the baker’s shop, and eaten standing in the street. Sitting down at a table, even though it was greasy, seemed a degree of luxury to which he was not entitled. But Phil more easily adapted himself to circumstances. He knew that he had as much right there as any other customer.

Presently a waiter presented himself.

“Have you ordered?” he asked.

“Give me some roast beef,” said Phil. “What will you have, Giacomo?”

“The same as you, Filippo,” said Giacomo, in Italian.

“What’s that?” asked the waiter, thinking he had named some dish.

“He will have some roast beef, too. Will you have some coffee, Giacomo?”

“If you have it,” answered the smaller boy.

So Phil gave the double order, and very soon the coffee and meat were placed before them. I suspect that few of my readers would have regarded these articles with any relish. One need not be fastidious to find fault with the dark-hued beverage, which was only a poor imitation of coffee, and the dark fragments of meat, which might have been horseflesh so far as appearance went. But to the two Italian boys it was indeed a feast. The coffee, which was hot, warmed their stomachs, and seemed to them like nectar, while the meat was as palatable as the epicure finds his choicest dishes. While eating, even Giacomo forgot that he was engaged in something unlawful, and his face was lighted up with rare satisfaction.

“It is good,” said Phil, briefly, as he laid down his knife and fork, after disposing of the last morsel upon his plate.

“I wish I could have such a supper every day,” said Giacomo.

“I will when I am a man,” said Phil.

“I don’t think I shall ever be a man,” said Giacomo, shaking his head.

“Why not?” asked Phil, regarding him with surprise.

“I do not think I shall live.”

“What makes you think so, Giacomo?” said Phil, startled.

“I am not strong, Filippo,” said the little boy, “I think I get weaker every day. I long so much to go back to Italy. If I could see my mother once more, I would be willing to die then.”

“You must not think of such things, Giacomo,” said Phil, who, like most healthy boys, did not like to think of death. “You will get strong when summer comes. The weather is bad now, of course.”

“I don’t think I shall, Filippo. Do you remember Matteo?”

“Yes, I remember him.”

Matteo was a comrade who had died six months before. He was a young boy, about the size and age of Giacomo.

“I dreamed of him last night, Filippo. He held out his hand to me.”

“Well?”

“I think I am going to die, like him.”

“Don’t be foolish, Giacomo,” said Phil. But, though he said this, even he was startled by what Giacomo had told him. He was ignorant, and the ignorant are prone to superstition; so he felt uncomfortable, but did not like to acknowledge it.

“You must not think of this, Giacomo,” he said. “You will be an old man some day.”

“That’s for you, Filippo. It isn’t for me,” said the little boy.

“Come, let us go,” said Phil, desirous of dropping the subject.

He went up to the desk, and paid for both, the sum of thirty cents.

“Now, come,” he said.

Giacomo followed him out, and they turned down the street, feeling refreshed by the supper they had eaten. But unfortunately they had been observed. As they left the restaurant, they attracted the attention of Pietro, whom chance had brought thither at an unfortunate time. His sinister face lighted up with joy as he realized the discovery he had made. But he wished to make sure that it was as he supposed. They might have gone in only to play and sing.

He crossed the street, unobserved by Phil and Giacomo, and entered the restaurant.

“Were my two brothers here?” he asked, assuming relationship.

“Two boys with fiddles?”

“Yes; they just went out.”

“Did they get supper?”

“Yes; they had some roast beef and coffee.”

“Thank you,” said Pietro, and he left the restaurant with his suspicions confirmed.

“I shall tell the padrone,” he said to himself.

“They will feel the stick to-night.”