Phil, the Fiddler

“I went down to Wall Street.”

“On business?” inquired Paul, with a smile.

“No,” said Phil, seriously. “I saw Lucia.”

“Who is she?”

“I forgot. You don’t know Lucia. She lived in my home in Italy, and I used to play with her. She told me of my mother.”

“That’s lucky, Phil. I hope your mother is well.”

“She is not sick, but she is thin. She thinks of me,” said Phil.

“Of course she does. You will go home and see her some day.”

“I hope so.”

“Of course you will,” said Paul, confidently.

“I saw the boy who stole my fiddle,” continued Phil.

“Tim Rafferty?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“I was with a bootblack—the one they call ‘Ragged Dick.’ Do you know him?”

“Yes; I know Dick. He is a bully fellow, always joking.”

“Dick wanted to lick him, but a policeman came, and he went away.”

“Does Dick know that he stole your fiddle?”

“Yes.”

“Then he will be sure to punish him. It will save me the trouble.”

The walk was not long. Soon they were at Paul’s door.

“I have brought company to dinner, mother,” said Paul, entering first.

“I am glad to see you, Phil,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Why have you not come before?”

“How is that, Phil? Will you stay now?” said Paul.

Mrs. Hoffman looked at Paul inquiringly.

“Phil was afraid he would not be welcome,” he exclaimed.

“He is always welcome,” said Mrs. Hoffman.

“Where is your fiddle?” asked Jimmy.

“A boy took it,” said Phil, “and threw it into the street, and a wagon went over it and broke it.”

Jimmy was quite indignant for his friend, when the story had been told.

“It’s lucky for Tim Rafferty that he is not here,” said Paul, “or he might suffer.”

“If I was a big boy I’d lick him,” said Jimmy, belligerently.

“I never saw you so warlike before, Jimmy,” said Paul.

To Phil this sympathy seemed pleasant. He felt that he was in the midst of friends, and friends were not so plentiful as not to be valued.

“What are you going to have for dinner, mother?” asked Paul.

“I am sorry, Paul, that I have no warm meat. I have some cold roast beef, some hot potatoes, and an apple pudding.”

“You needn’t apologize, mother. That’s good enough for anybody. It’s as good as Phil gets at his boarding house, I am sure. He has got rather tired of it, and isn’t going to stay.”

“Are you going to leave the padrone?” asked Mrs. Hoffman, with interest.

“Si, signora,” said Phil.

“Will he let you go?”

“I shall run away,” said Phil.

“You see, mother, Phil would be sure of a beating if he went home without his fiddle. Now he doesn’t like to be beaten, and the padrone gives harder beatings than you do, mother.”

“I presume so,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling. “I do not think I am very severe.”

“No, you spoil the rod and spare the child.”

“Is Phil going to stay in the city?”

“No; the padrone would get hold of him if he did. He is going to New Jersey to make his fortune.”

“But he will need a fiddle.”

“I am going to lend him money enough to buy one. I know a pawnbroker who has one for sale. I think I can get it for three or four dollars. When Phil gets it he is going around giving concerts. How much can you make in a day, Phil?”

“Sometimes I make two dollars,” answered Phil.

“That is excellent, especially when you are your own padrone. You will be able to save up money. You will have to buy a pocketbook, Phil.”

“Where will you sleep, Phil?” asked Jimmy, interested.

Phil shrugged his shoulders. He had not thought of that question particularly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“Of course he will stop at the first-class hotels, Jimmy,” said Paul, “like all men of distinction. I shouldn’t wonder if he married an heiress in six months, and went back to Italy on a bridal tour.”

“He is too young to be married,” said Jimmy, who, it will be perceived, understood everything literally.

“I don’t know but he is,” said Paul, “but he isn’t too old to be hungry. So, mother, whenever dinner is ready we shall be.”

“It is all ready except peeling the potatoes, Paul.”

“We can do that ourselves. It is good exercise, and will sharpen our appetites. You will have to eat fast or there won’t be much left. Jimmy is the most tremendous eater I ever saw, and won’t leave much for the rest of us, if we give him the chance.”

“Now, Paul,” expostulated Jimmy, feeling aggrieved at this charge, “you know I don’t eat as much as you do.”

“Hear him talk, Phil. I don’t eat more than enough to keep a fly alive.”

“It must be a pretty large fly, Paul,” said Jimmy, slyly.

“Good joke, Jimmy. Mother, you must give Jimmy twelve potatoes to-day instead of the ten he usually eats.”

“Oh, Paul, how can you tell such stories?” exclaimed Jimmy, shocked at such an extravagant assertion. Phil laughed, for there was something ludicrous in the idea of Jimmy, who was a slight boy of seven, making away with such a large quantity, and the little boy began to see that it was a joke at his expense.

The dinner went off well. All had a good appetite, and did full justice to Mrs. Hoffman’s cookery. The pudding in particular was pronounced a success. It was so flaky and well-seasoned, and the sauce, flavored with lemon, was so good, that everyone except Mrs. Hoffman took a second piece. For the first time since he had left Italy, Phil felt the uncomfortable sensation of having eaten too much. However, with the discomfort was the pleasant recollection of a good dinner, and to the mind of the little fiddler the future brightened, as it is very apt to do under such circumstances, and he felt ready to go out and achieve his fortune.

“Why won’t you stop with us to-night, Phil, and start on your journey to-morrow?” asked Mrs. Hoffman. “I am sure Jimmy would be glad of your company.”

“Yes, Phil, stay,” said Paul.

Phil hesitated. It was a tempting invitation, but, on the other hand, if he remained in the city till the next day he might be in danger from the padrone.

He expressed this fear.

“I am afraid the padrone would catch me,” he said.

“No, he won’t. You can go out with me and buy the fiddle now, and then come back and play to mother and Jimmy. To-morrow morning I will go with you to the Jersey City Ferry myself, and if we meet the padrone, I’ll give him a hint to be off.”

Phil still hesitated, but finally yielded to the united request. But it was now one o’clock, and Paul must be back to his business. Phil took his cap and went with him to purchase the fiddle, promising to come back directly.

They went into Chatham Street, and soon halted before a small shop, in front of which were three gilt balls, indicating that it was a pawnbroker’s shop.

Entering, they found themselves in a small apartment, about twelve feet front by twenty in depth, completely filled with pawnable articles in great variety a large part, however, consisting of clothing; for when the poor have occasion to raise money at a pawnbroker’s, they generally find little in their possession to pawn except their clothing. Here was a shawls pawned for a few shillings by a poor woman whose intemperate husband threw the burden of supporting two young children upon her. Next to it was a black coat belonging to a clerk, who had been out of employment for three months, and now was out of money also. Here was a child’s dress, pawned by the mother in dire necessity to save the child from starving. There was a plain gold ring, snatched by a drunken husband from the finger of his poor wife, not to buy food, but to gratify his insatiable craving for drink.

Over this scene of confusion presided a little old man with blear eyes and wrinkled face, but with a sharp glance, fully alive to his own interests. He was an Englishman born, but he had been forty years in America. He will be remembered by those who have read “Paul the Peddler.” Though nearly as poverty-stricken in appearance as his poorest customers, the old man was rich, if reports were true. His business was a very profitable one, allowing the most exorbitant rates of interest, and, being a miser, he spent almost nothing on himself, so that his hoards had increased to a considerable amount.

He looked up sharply, as Paul and Phil entered, and scanned them closely with his ferret-like eyes.

CHAPTER XVI

THE FASHIONABLE PARTY

Eliakim Henderson, for this was the pawnbroker’s name, did not remember Paul, though on one occasion our hero had called upon him. Nearly all his customers came to pawn articles, not to purchase, and Eliakim naturally supposed that the two boys had come on this errand. Before entering, Paul said to Phil, “Don’t say anything; leave me to manage.”

As they entered, Phil espied a fiddle hanging up behind the counter, and he saw at a glance that it was better than the one he had been accustomed to play upon. But to his surprise, Paul did not refer to it at first.

“What will you give me on this coat?” asked Paul, indicating the one he had on.

He had no intention of selling it, but preferred to come to the fiddle gradually, that the pawnbroker might not think that was his main object, and so charge an extra price.

Eliakim scanned the garment critically. It was nearly new and in excellent condition, and he coveted it.

“I will give you a dollar,” said he, naming a price low enough to advance upon.

“That is too little,” said Paul, shaking his head.

“I might give you fifty cents more, but I should lose if you didn’t redeem it.”

“I don’t think you would. I paid ten dollars for it.”

“But it is old.”

“No, it isn’t; I have only had it a few weeks.”

“How much do you want on it?” asked Eliakim, scanning Paul sharply, to see how much he seemed in want of money.

“I don’t want any to-day. If I should want some next week, I will come in.”

“It will be older next week,” said Eliakim, not wanting to lose the bargain, for he hoped it would not be redeemed.

“Never mind; I can get along till then.”

“Can I do no business with you this morning?” asked Eliakim, disappointed.

“I don’t know,” said Paul, looking carelessly around. “My friend here would like a fiddle, if he can get one cheap. What do you ask for that one up there?”

Eliakim took down the fiddle with alacrity. He had had it on hand for a year without securing a customer. It had originally been pawned by a poor musician, for a dollar and a quarter, but the unfortunate owner had never been able to redeem it. Among his customers, the pawnbroker had not found one sufficiently musical to take it off his hands. Here was a slight chance, and he determined to effect a sale if he could.

“It is a splendid instrument,” he said, enthusiastically, brushing off the dust with a dirty cotton handkerchief. “I have had many chances to sell it.”

“Why didn’t you sell it, then?” demanded Paul, who did not believe a word of this.

“Because it was only pawned. I kept it for the owner.”

“Oh, well; if you can’t sell it, it doesn’t matter.”

“It is for sale now,” said Eliakim, quickly. “He has not come for it, and I shall keep it no longer. Just try it. See what a sp-l-endid instrument it is!” said the pawnbroker, dwelling on the adjective to give emphasis to it.

Paul tried it, but not knowing how to play, of course created only discord. He did not offer it to Phil, because the young Italian boy would have made it sound too well and so enhanced the price.

“It don’t sound very well,” said he, indifferently; “but I suppose it will do to learn on. What do you want for it?”

“Five dollars,” said Eliakim, studying the face of Paul, to observe the effect of his announcement.

“Five dollars,” repeated Paul. “Take it back, then, and wait till A. T. Stewart wants one. I haven’t got five dollars to throw away.”

But the pawnbroker did not expect to get his first price. He named it, in order to have a chance to fall.

“Stay,” he said, as Paul made a motion to leave; “what will you give me for it?”

“I’ll give you a dollar and a half,” said Paul, turning back.

“A dollar and a half!” exclaimed Eliakim, holding up both hands in horror. “Do you want to ruin me?”

“No, I think you want to ruin me. I am willing to pay a fair price.”

“You may have it for three dollars and a half.”

“No doubt you’d be glad to get that. Come, Phil, we’ll go.”

“Stay; you may have it for three dollars, though I shall lose by it.”

“So should I, if I paid you that price. I can wait till some other time.”

But Eliakim did not intend to let this chance slip. He had found the fiddle rather unsalable, and feared if he lost his chance of disposing of it, it might remain on his hands for a year more. He was willing, therefore, to take less than the profit he usually calculated upon in the sale of articles which remained unredeemed.

“You may have it for two dollars and a half,” he said.

As far as Paul could judge, though he did not know much about the price of violins, this was a reasonable price. But he knew that Eliakim must have got it for considerably less, or he would not so soon have come down to this sum. He did not hesitate, therefore, to try to get it a little cheaper.

“I’ll give you two dollars and a quarter,” he said, “and not a penny more.”

Eliakim tried hard to get ten cents more, but Paul saw that he was sure of his purchase, and remained obdurate. So, after a pretense of putting up the fiddle, the pawnbroker finally said, “You may have it, but I tell you that I shall lose money.”

“All right,” said Paul; “hand it over.”

“Where is the money?” asked Eliakim, cautiously.

Paul drew from his pocket a two-dollar bill and twenty-five cents in currency, and received the fiddle. The pawnbroker scrutinized the money closely, fearing that it might be bad; but finally, making up his mind on that point, deposited it in his money drawer.

“Well, Phil, we may as well go,” said Paul. “We’ve got through our business.”

The pawnbroker heard this, and a sudden suspicion entered his mind that Paul had been too sharp for him.

“I might have got twenty-five cents more,” he thought regretfully; and this thought disturbed the complacency he felt at first.

“Well, Phil, how do you like it?” asked Paul, as they emerged into the street.

“Let me try it,” said Phil, eagerly.

He struck up a tune, which he played through, his face expressing the satisfaction he felt.

“Is it as good as your old one?”

“It is much better,” said Phil. “I will pay you for it;” and he drew out the money the sailors had given him in the morning.

“No, Phil,” said his friend, “you may need that money. Keep it, and pay me when you have more.”

“But I shall be away.”

“You will come to the city some day. When you do you will know where to find me. Now go and play a tune to Jimmy. He is waiting for you. If you remain in the streets, your old enemy, Tim Rafferty, may want to borrow your fiddle again.”

“You are very kind to me, Paolo,” said Phil, raising his dark eyes with a sudden impulse of gratitude.

“It’s nothing, Phil,” said Paul, modestly; “you would do the same for me if I needed it.”

“Yes, I would,” said Phil; “but I am poor, and I cannot help you.”

“You won’t be poor always, Phil,” said Paul, cheerfully, “nor I either, I hope. I mean to be a merchant some time on a bigger scale than now. As for you, you will be a great player, and give concerts at the Academy of Music.”

Phil laughed, but still seemed pleased at the prophecy.

“Well, Phil, I must bid you good-by for a little while, or my clerks will be cheating me. I will see you at supper.”

“Addio, Paolo,” said Phil.

“Addio,” said Paul, laughing. “Wouldn’t I make a good Italian?”

Paul returned to his stand, and Phil took the direction of Mrs. Hoffman’s rooms. While on his way he heard the sound of a hand-organ, and, looking across the way, saw, with some uneasiness, his old enemy Pietro, playing to a crowd of boys.

“I hope he won’t see me,” said Phil to himself.

He was afraid Pietro would remember his old violin, and, seeing the difference in the instrument he now had, inquire how he got it. He might, if not satisfied on this point, take Phil home with him, which would be fatal to his plans. He thought it prudent, therefore, to turn down the next street, and get out of sight as soon as possible. Fortunately for him Pietro had his back turned, so that he did not observe him. Nothing would have pleased him better than to get the little fiddler into trouble, for, besides being naturally malicious, he felt that an exhibition of zeal in his master’s service would entitle him to additional favors at the hands of the padrone, whom he hoped some day to succeed.

“Oh, what a beautiful fiddle!” said Jimmy, in admiration, as Phil reappeared. “Do you think I could play on it?”

Phil shook his head, smiling.

“Don’t let Jimmy have it. He would only spoil it,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I don’t think he would succeed as well in music as in drawing.”

“Will you play something?” asked Jimmy.

Phil willingly complied, and for half an hour held Jimmy entranced with his playing. The little boy then undertook to teach Phil how to draw, but at this Phil probably cut as poor a figure as his instructor would have done at playing on the violin.

So the afternoon wore away, happily for all three, and at five Paul made his appearance. When supper was over Phil played again, and this attracting the attention of the neighbors, Mrs. Hoffman’s rooms were gradually filled with visitors, who finally requested Phil to play some dancing tunes. Finding him able to do so, an impromptu dance was got up, and Mrs. Hoffman, considerably to her surprise, found that she was giving a dancing-party. Paul, that nothing might be left out, took a companion with him and they soon reappeared with cake and ice cream, which were passed around amid great hilarity; and it was not until midnight that the last visitor went out, and the sound of music and laughter was hushed.

“You are getting fashionable in your old age, mother,” said Paul, gayly. “I think I shall send an account of your party to the Home Journal.”

“I believe it is usual to describe the dresses of the ladies,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.

“Oh, yes, I won’t forget that. Just give me a piece of paper and see how I will do it.”

Paul, whose education, I repeat here, was considerably above that of most boys in his position, sat down and hastily wrote the following description, which was read to the great amusement of his auditors:

“Mrs. Hoffman, mother of the well-known artist, Jimmy Hoffman, Esq., gave a fashionable party last evening. Her spacious and elegant apartments were crowded with finely dressed gentlemen and ladies from the lower part of the city. Signor Filippo, the great Italian musician, furnished the music. Mrs. Hoffman appeared in a costly calico dress, and had a valuable gold ring on one of her fingers. Her son, the artist, was richly dressed in a gray suit, purchased a year since. Miss Bridget Flaherty, of Mott Street, was the belle of the occasion, and danced with such grace and energy that the floor came near giving away beneath her fairy tread. [Miss Flaherty, by the way, weighed one hundred and eighty pounds.] Mr. Mike Donovan, newspaper merchant, handed round refreshments with his usual graceful and elegant deportment. Miss Matilda Wiggins appeared in a magnificent print dress, imported from Paris by A. T. Stewart, and costing a shilling a yard. No gloves were worn, as they are now dispensed with in the best society. At a late hour the guests dispersed. Mrs. Hoffman’s party will long be remembered as the most brilliant of the season.”

“I did not know you had so much talent for reporting, Paul,” said his mother. “You forgot one thing, however.”

“What is that?”

“You said nothing of yourself.”

“I was too modest, mother. However, if you insist upon it, I will do so. Anything at all to please you.”

Paul resumed his writing and in a short time had the following:

“Among those present we observed the handsome and accomplished Paul Hoffman, Esq., the oldest son of the hostess. He was elegantly dressed in a pepper-and-salt coat and vest, blue necktie, and brown breeches, and wore a six-cent diamond breastpin in the bosom of his shirt. His fifteen-cent handkerchief was perfumed with cologne which he imported himself at a cost of ten cents per bottle. He attracted general admiration.”

“You seem to have got over your modesty, Paul,” said his mother.

“I am sleepy,” said Jimmy, drowsily rubbing his eyes.

As this expressed the general feeling, they retired to bed at once, and in half an hour were wandering in the land of dreams.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PADRONE IS ANXIOUS

The next morning Paul and Phil rose later that usual. They slept longer, in order to make up for the late hour at which they retired. As they sat down to breakfast, at half-past eight, Paul said: “I wonder whether the padrone misses you, Phil?”

“Yes,” said Phil; “he will be very angry because I did not come back last night.”

“Will he think you have run away?”

“I do not know. Some of the boys stay away sometimes, because they are too far off to come home.”

“Then he may expect you to-night. I suppose he will have a beating ready for you.”

“Yes, he would beat me very hard,” said Phil, “if he thought I did not mean to come back.”

“I should like to go and tell him that he need not expect you. I should like to see how he looks.”

“He might beat you, too, Paolo.”

“I should like to see him try it,” said Paul, straightening up with a consciousness of strength. “He might find that rather hard.”

Phil looked admiringly at the boy who was not afraid of the padrone. Like his comrades, he had been accustomed to think of the padrone as possessed of unlimited power, and never dreamed of anybody defying him, or resisting his threats. Though he had determined to run away, his soul was not free from the tyranny of his late taskmaster, and he thought with uneasiness and dread of the possibility of his being conveyed back to him.

“Well, mother,” said Paul, glancing at the clock as he rose from the breakfast table, “it is almost nine o’clock—rather a late hour for a business man like me.”

“You are not often so late, Paul.”

“It is lucky that I am my own employer, or I might run the risk of being discharged. I am afraid the excuse that I was at Mrs. Hoffman’s fashionable party would not be thought sufficient. I guess I won’t have time to stop to shave this morning.”

“You haven’t got anything to shave,” said Jimmy.

“Don’t be envious, Jimmy. I counted several hairs this morning. Well, Phil, are you ready to go with me? Don’t forget your fiddle.”

“When shall we see you again, Philip?” said Mrs. Hoffman.

“I do not know,” said the little minstrel.

“Shall you not come to the city sometimes?”

“I am afraid the padrone would catch me,” said Phil.

“Whenever you do come, Phil,” said Paul, “come right to me. I will take care of you. I don’t think the padrone will carry us both off, and he would have to take me if he took you.”

“Good-by, Philip,” said Mrs. Hoffman, offering her hand. “I hope you will prosper.”

“So do I, Phil,” said Jimmy.

Phil thus took with him the farewells and good wishes of two friends who had been drawn to him by his attractive face and good qualities. He could not help wishing that he might stay with them permanently, but he knew that this could not be. To remain in the same city with the padrone was out of the question.

Meanwhile we return to the house which Phil had forsaken, and inquire what effect was produced by his non-appearance.

It was the rule of the establishment that all the boys should be back by midnight. Phil had generally returned an hour before that time. When, therefore, it was near midnight, the padrone looked uneasily at the clock.

“Have you seen Filippo?” he asked, addressing his nephew.

“No, signore,” answered Pietro. “Filippo has not come in.”

“Do you think he has run away?” asked the padrone, suspiciously.

“I don’t know,” said Pietro.

“Have you any reason to think he intended to run away?”

“No,” said Pietro.

“I should not like to lose him. He brings me more money than most of the boys.”

“He may come in yet.”

“When he does,” said the padrone, frowning, “I will beat him for being so late. Is there any boy that he would be likely to tell, if he meant to run away?”