THE BARROOM
Phil did not leave the boat. He lingered in the cabin until the
passengers were seated, and after the boat was again under way began to
play. This time, however, he was not as fortunate as before. While in
the midst of a tune one of the men employed on the boat entered the
cabin. At times he would not have interfered with him, but he happened
to be in ill humor, and this proved unfortunate for Phil.
“Stop your noise, boy,” he said.
Phil looked up.
“May I not play?”
“No; nobody wants to hear you.”
The young fiddler did not dare to disobey. He saw that for the present
his gains were at an end. However, he had enough to satisfy the rapacity
of the padrone, and could afford to stop. He took a seat, and waited
quietly till the boat landed. One of the lady passengers, as she passed
him on her way out of the cabin, placed ten cents in his hand. This
led him to count up his gains. He found they amounted to precisely two
dollars and fifty cents.
“I need not play any more,” he thought. “I shall not be beaten
to-night.”
He found his seat so comfortable, especially after wandering about the
streets all day, that he remained on the boat for two more trips. Then,
taking his violin under his arm, he went out on the pier.
It was half-past seven o’clock. He would like to have gone to his
lodging, but knew that it would not be permitted. In this respect the
Italian fiddler is not as well off as those who ply other street trades.
Newsboys and bootblacks are their own masters, and, whether their
earnings are little or great, reap the benefit of them themselves. They
can stop work at six if they like, or earlier; but the little Italian
musician must remain in the street till near midnight, and then, after
a long and fatiguing day, he is liable to be beaten and sent to bed
without his supper, unless he brings home a satisfactory sum of money.
Phil walked about here and there in the lower part of the city. As he
was passing a barroom he was called in by the barkeeper.
“Give us a tune, boy,” he said.
It was a low barroom, frequented by sailors and a rough set of customers
of similar character. The red face of the barkeeper showed that he drank
very liberally, and the atmosphere was filled with the fumes of bad
cigars and bad liquor. The men were ready for a good time, as they
called it, and it was at the suggestion of one of them that Phil had
been invited in.
“Play a tune on your fiddle, you little ragamuffin,” said one.
Phil cared little how he was addressed. He was at the service of the
public, and what he chiefly cared for was that he be paid for his
services.
“What shall I play?” he asked.
“Anything,” hiccoughed one. “It’s all the same to me. I don’t know one
tune from another.”
The young fiddler played one of the popular airs of the day. He did not
undertake to sing, for the atmosphere was so bad that he could hardly
avoid coughing. He was anxious to get out into the street, but he did
not wish to refuse playing. When he had finished his tune, one of
those present, a sailor, cried, “That’s good. Step up, boys, and have a
drink.”
The invitation was readily accepted by all except Phil. Noticing that
the boy kept his place, the sailor said, “Step up, boy, and wet your
whistle.”
Phil liked the weak wines of his native land, but he did not care for
the poisonous decoctions of be found in such places.
“I am not thirsty,” he said.
“Yes, you are; here, give this boy a glass of brandy.”
“I do not want it,” said Phil.
“You won’t drink with us,” exclaimed the sailor, who had then enough to
be quarrelsome. “Then I’ll make you;” and he brought down his fist so
heavily upon the counter as to make the glasses rattle. “Then I’ll make
you. Here, give me a glass, and I’ll pour it down his throat.”
The fiddler was frightened at his vehemence, and darted to the door. But
the sailor was too quick for him. Overtaking Phil, he dragged him
back with a rough grasp, and held out his hand for the glass. But an
unexpected friend now turned up.
“Oh, let the boy go, Jack,” said a fellow sailor. “If he don’t want to
drink, don’t force him.”
But his persecutor was made ugly by his potations, and swore that Phil
should drink before he left the barroom.
“That he shall not,” said his new friend.
“Who is to prevent it?” demanded Jack, fiercely.
“I will.”
“Then I’ll pour a glass down your throat, too,” returned Jack,
menacingly.
“No need of that. I am ready enough to drink. But the boy shan’t drink,
if he don’t want to.”
“He shall!” retorted the first sailor, with an oath.
Still holding Phil by the shoulder with one hand, with the other he took
a glass which had just been filled with brandy; he was about to pour it
down his throat, when the glass was suddenly dashed from his hand and
broke upon the floor.
With a fresh oath Jack released his hold on Phil, and, maddened with
rage, threw himself upon the other. Instantly there was a general melee.
Phil did not wait to see the result. He ran to the door, and, emerging
into the street, ran away till he had placed a considerable distance
between himself and the disorderly and drunken party in the barroom. The
fight there continued until the police, attracted by the noise, forced
an entrance and carried away the whole party to the station-house, where
they had a chance to sleep off their potations.
Freed from immediate danger, the young fiddler kept on his way. He had
witnessed such scenes before, as he had often been into barrooms to
play in the evening. He had not been paid for his trouble, but he cared
little for that, as the money would have done him no good. He would only
have been compelled to pass it over to the padrone. These boys, even
at a tender age, are necessarily made familiar with the darker side of
metropolitan life. Vice and crime are displayed before their young eyes,
and if they do not themselves become vicious, it is not for the want of
knowledge and example.
It would be tedious to follow Phil in his wanderings. We have already
had a glimpse of the manner in which the days passed with him; only
it is to be said that this was a favorable specimen. He had been more
fortunate in collecting money than usual. Besides, he had had a better
dinner than usual, thanks to the apple, and a supper such as he had not
tasted for months.
About ten o’clock, as he was walking on the Bowery, he met Giacomo, his
companion of the morning.
The little boy was dragging one foot after the other wearily. There was
a sad look on his young face, for he had not been successful, and he
knew too well how he would be received by the padrone. Yet his face
lighted up as he saw Phil. Often before Phil had encouraged him when he
was despondent. He looked upon our young hero as his only friend; for
there was no other of the boys who seemed to care for him or able to
help him.
“Is it you, Filippo?” he said.
“Yes, Giacomo. What luck have you had?”
“Not much. I have only a little more than a dollar. I am so tired; but I
don’t dare go back. The padrone will beat me.”
An idea came to Phil. He did not know how much money he had; but he was
sure it must be considerably more than two dollars, Why should he not
give some to his friend to make up his deficiencies, and so perhaps save
him from punishment?
“I have had better luck,” he said. “I have almost three dollars.”
“You are always luckier than I, Filippo.”
“I am stronger, Giacomo. It does not tire me so much to walk about.”
“You can sing, too. I cannot sing very much, and I do not get so much
money.”
“Tell me just how much money you have, Giacomo.”
“I have a dollar and thirty cents,” said Giacomo, after counting the
contents of his pockets.
Meanwhile Phil had been doing the same thing. The result of his count
was that he found he had two dollars and eighty cents.
“Listen, Giacomo,” he said. “I will give you enough to make two
dollars.”
“But then you will be beaten.”
“No; I shall have two dollars and five cents left. Then neither of us
will get beaten.”
“How kind you are, Filippo!”
“Oh, it is nothing. Besides, I do not want to carry too much, or the
padrone will expect me to bring as much every day, and that I cannot do.
So it will be better for us both.”
The transfer was quickly made, and the two boys kept together until they
heard the clock strike eleven. It was now so late that they determined
to return to their miserable lodging, for both were tired and longed for
sleep.