Phil, the Fiddler

Upon this, Phil struck up a tune.

“Where’s your monkey?” asked one of the boys.

“I have no monkey.”

“If you want a monkey, here’s one for you,” said Tim Rafferty, putting his hand on his companion’s shoulder.

“He’s too big,” said Phil, laughing.

“Hould yer gab, Tim Rafferty,” said the other. “It’s you that’ll make a better monkey nor I. Say, Johnny, do you pay your monkeys well?”

“Give me my pennies,” said Phil, with an eye to business.

“Play another tune, then.”

Phil obeyed directions. When he had finished, a contribution was taken up, but it only amounted to seven cents. However, considering the character of the audience, this was as much as could be expected.

“How much have you made to-day, Johnny?” asked Tim.

“A dollar,” said Phil.

“A dollar! That’s more nor I have made. I tell you what, boys, I think I’ll buy a fiddle myself. I’ll make more money that way than blackin’ boots.”

“A great fiddler you’d make, Tim Rafferty.”

“Can’t I play, then? Lend me your fiddle, Johnny, till I try it a little.”

Phil shook his head.

“Give it to me now; I won’t be hurtin’ it.”

“You’ll break it.”

“Then I’ll pay for it.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“Whose is it, then?”

“The padrone’s.”

“And who’s the padrone?”

“The man I live with. If the fiddle is broken, he will beat me.”

“Then he’s an ould haythen, and you may tell him so, with Tim Rafferty’s compliments. But I won’t hurt it.”

Phil, however, feared to trust the violin in unskillful hands. He knew the penalty if any harm befell it, and he had no mind to run the risk. So he rose from the seat, and withdrew to a little distance, Tim Rafferty following, for, though he cared little at first, he now felt determined to try the fiddle.

“If you don’t give it to me I’ll put a head on you,” he said.

“You shall not have it,” said Phil, firmly, for he, too, could be determined.

“The little chap’s showing fight,” said Tim’s companion. “Look out, Tim; he’ll mash you.”

“I can fight him wid one hand,” said Tim.

He advanced upon our young hero, who, being much smaller, would probably have been compelled to yield to superior force but for an interference entirely unexpected by Tim.

CHAPTER IV

AN INVITATION TO SUPPER

Tim had raised his fist to strike the young fiddler, when he was suddenly pushed aside with considerable force, and came near measuring his length on the ground.

“Who did that?” he cried, angrily, recovering his equilibrium.

“I did it,” said a calm voice.

Tim recognized in the speaker Paul Hoffman, whom some of my readers will remember as “Paul the Peddler.” Paul was proprietor of a necktie stand below the Astor House, and was just returning home to supper.

He was a brave and manly boy, and his sympathies were always in favor of the oppressed. He had met Phil before, and talked with him, and seeing him in danger came to his assistance.

“What made you push me?” demanded Tim, fiercely.

“What were you going to do to him?” rejoined Paul, indicating the Italian boy.

“I was only goin’ to borrer his fiddle.”

“He would have broken it,” said Phil.

“You don’t know how to play,” said Paul. “You would have broken his fiddle, and then he would be beaten.”

“I would pay for it if I did,” said Tim.

“You say so, but you wouldn’t. Even if you did, it would take time, and the boy would have suffered.”

“What business is that of yours?” demanded Tim, angrily.

“It is always my business when I see a big boy teasing a little one.”

“You’ll get hurt some day,” said Tim, suddenly.

“Not by you,” returned Paul, not particularly alarmed.

Tim would have gladly have punished Paul on the spot for his interference, but he did not consider it prudent to provoke hostilities. Paul was as tall as himself, and considerably stronger. He therefore wisely confined himself to threatening words.

“Come along with me, Phil,” said Paul, kindly, to the little fiddler.