Phil, the Fiddler

“We never steal,” said Phil, indignantly; for he understood what was said.

“Of course he says so,” sneered the grocer. “Come and warm yourselves, if you want to.”

The boys accepted this grudging invitation, and drew near the stove. They spread out their hands, and returning warmth proved very grateful to them.

“Have you been out long?” asked the gentleman who had interceded in their behalf, also drawing near the stove.

“Since eight, signore.”

“Do you live in Brooklyn?”

“No; in New York.”

“And do you go out every day?”

“Si, signore.”

“How long since you came from Italy?”

“A year.”

“Would you like to go back?”

“He would,” said Phil, pointing to his companion. “I would like to stay here, if I had a good home.”

“What kind of a home have you? With whom do you live?”

“With the padrone.”

“I suppose that means your guardian?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Phil.

“Is he kind to you?”

“He beats us if we do not bring home enough money.”

“Your lot is a hard one. What makes you stay with him? Don’t the boys ever run away?”

“Sometimes.”

“What does the padrone do in that case?”

“He tries to find them.”

“And if he does—what then?”

“He beats them for a long time.”

“Evidently your padrone is a brute. Why don’t you complain to the police?”

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.

“I think I should enjoy giving your padrone a horsewhipping,” said the gentleman, impetuously. “Can such things be permitted in the nineteenth century?”

“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.

Mr. Pomeroy deigned no reply to this remark.

“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.”

“Addio, signore,” said the two boys.

“I suppose that means ‘good-by.’ Well, good-by, and better luck.”

CHAPTER IX

PIETRO THE SPY

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.

“Haven’t you got warm yet?” he asked. “I can’t have you in my way all day.”

“We will go,” said Phil. “Come, Giacomo.”

He did not thank the grocer, knowing how grudgingly permission had been given.

So they went out again into the chill air, but they had got thoroughly warmed, and were better able to bear it.

“Where shall we go, Filippo?” asked the younger boy.

“We will go back to New York. It is not so cold there.”

Giacomo unhesitatingly assented to whatever Phil proposed. He was not self-reliant, like our hero, but always liked to have someone to lean upon.

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.

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.

When six o’clock came Giacomo asked Phil, who acted as treasurer, how much money they had.

“Two dollars,” answered Phil.

“That is only one dollar for each.”

“Yes, Giacomo.”

“Then we shall be beaten,” said the little boy, with a sigh.