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

Though Phil had not taken in much money during the first day of independence, he had more than paid his expenses. He started on the second day with a good breakfast, and good spirits. He determined to walk back to Newark, where he might expect to collect more money than in the suburbs. If he should meet Pietro he determined not to yield without a struggle. But he felt better now than at first, and less afraid of the padrone.

Nine o’clock found him again in Newark. He soon came to a halt, and began to play. A few paused to listen, but their interest in music did not extend so far as to affect their pockets. Phil passed around his hat in vain. He found himself likely to go unrewarded for his labors. But just then he noticed a carriage with open door, waiting in front of a fashionable dry-goods store. Two ladies had just come out and taken their seats preparatory to driving off, when Phil stepped up bareheaded and held his cap. He was an unusually attractive boy, and as he smiled one of the ladies, who was particularly fond of children, noticed him.

“What a handsome boy!” she said to her companion.

“Some pennies for music,” said Phil.

“How old are you?” asked the lady.

“Twelve years.”

“Just the age of my Johnny. If I give you some money what will you do with it?”

“I will buy dinner,” said Phil.

“I never give to vagrants,” said the second lady, a spinster of uncertain age, who did not share her niece’s partiality for children.

“It isn’t his fault if he is a vagrant, Aunt Maria,” said the younger lady.

“I have no doubt he is a thief,” continued Aunt Maria, with acerbity.

“I am not a thief,” said Phil, indignantly, for he understood very well the imputation, and he replaced his cap on his head.

“I don’t believe you are,” said the first lady; “here, take this,” and she put in his hand twenty-five cents.

“Thank you, signora,” said Phil, with a grateful smile.

“That money is thrown away,” said the elderly lady; “you are very indiscriminate in your charity, Eleanor.”

“It is better to give too much than too little, Aunt Maria, isn’t it?”

“You shouldn’t give to unworthy objects.”

“How do you know this boy is an unworthy object?”

“He is a young vagrant.”

“Can he help it? It is the way he makes his living.”

The discussion continued, but Phil did not stop to hear it. He had received more than he expected, and now felt ready to continue his business. One thing was fortunate, and relieved him from the anxiety which he had formerly labored under. He was not obliged to obtain a certain sum in order to escape a beating at night. He had no master to account to. He was his own employer, as long as he kept out of the clutches of the padrone.

Phil continued to roam about the streets very much after the old fashion, playing here and there as he thought it expedient. By noon he had picked up seventy-five cents, and felt very well satisfied with his success. But if, as we are told, the hour that is darkest is just before day, it also happens sometimes that danger lies in wait for prosperity, and danger menaced our young hero, though he did not know it. To explain this, we must go back a little.

When Pietro prepared to leave the lodging-house in the morning, the padrone called loudly to him.

“Pietro,” said he, “you must find Filippo today.”

“Where shall I go?” asked Pietro.

“Go to Newark. Filippo went there, no doubt, while you, stupid that you are, went looking for him in Jersey City. You have been in Newark before?”

“Yes, signore padrone.”

“Very good; then you need no directions.”

“If I do not find him in Newark, where shall I go?”

“He is in Newark,” said the padrone, confidently. “He will not leave it.”

He judged that Phil would consider himself safe there, and would prefer to remain in a city rather than go into the country.

“I will do my best,” said Pietro.

“I expect you to bring him back to-night.”

“I should like to do so,” said Pietro, and he spoke the truth. Apart from his natural tendency to play the tyrant over smaller boys, he felt a personal grudge against Phil for eluding him the day before, and so subjecting him to the trouble of another day’s pursuit, besides the mortification of incurring a reprimand from his uncle. Never did agent accept a commission more readily than Pietro accepted that of catching and bringing Filippo to the padrone.

Leaving the lodging-house he walked down to the ferry at the foot of