THE BOYS RECEPTION
Phil and Giacomo entered the lodging-house, wholly unconscious of the
threatening storm, The padrone scowled at them as they entered but that
was nothing unusual. Had he greeted them kindly, they would have had
reason to be surprised.
“Well,” he said, harshly, “how much do you bring?”
The boys produced two dollars and a half which he pocketed.
“Is this all?” he asked.
“It was cold,” said Phil, “and we could not get more.”
The padrone listened with an ominous frown.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want your supper?”
Phil was puzzled by his manner, for he expected to be deprived of his
supper on account of bringing less money than usual. Why should the
padrone ask him if he wanted his supper? Though he was not hungry, he
thought it best to answer in the affirmative.
“What would you like?” asked the padrone.
Again Phil was puzzled, for the suppers supplied by the padrone never
varied, always consisting of bread and cheese.
“Perhaps,” continued the padrone, meeting no answer, “you would like to
have coffee and roast beef.”
All was clear now. Phil understood that he had been seen going in or out
of the restaurant, though he could not tell by whom. He knew well enough
what to expect, but a chivalrous feeling of friendship led him to try to
shield his young companion, even at the risk of a more severe punishment
to be inflicted upon himself.
“It was my fault,” he said, manfully. “Giacomo would not have gone in
but for me.”
“Wicked, ungrateful boy!” exclaimed the padrone, wrathfully. “It was my
money that you spent. You are a thief!”
Phil felt that this was a hard word, which he did not deserve. The money
was earned by himself, though claimed by the padrone. But he did not
venture to say this. It would have been revolutionary. He thought it
prudent to be silent.
“Why do you say nothing?” exclaimed the padrone, stamping his foot. “Why
did you spend my money?”
“I was hungry.”
“So you must live like a nobleman! Our supper is not good enough for
you. How much did you spend?”
“Thirty cents.”
“For each?”
“No, signore, for both.”
“Then you shall have each fifteen blows, one for each penny. I will
teach you to be a thief. Pietro, the stick! Now, strip!”
“Padrone,” said Phil, generously, “let me have all the blows. It was my
fault; Giacomo only went because I asked him.”
If the padrone had had a heart, this generous request would have touched
it; but he was not troubled in that way.
“He must be whipped, too,” he said. “He should not have gone with you.”
“He is sick, padrone,” persisted Phil. “Excuse him till he is better.”
“Not a word more,” roared the padrone, irritated at his persistence.
“If he is sick, it is because he has eaten too much,” he added, with a
sneer. “Pietro, my stick!”
The two boys began to strip mechanically, knowing that there was no
appeal. Phil stood bare to the waist. The padrone seized the stick and
began to belabor him. Phil’s brown face showed by its contortions the
pain he suffered, but he was too proud to cry out. When the punishment
was finished his back was streaked with red, and looked maimed and
bruised.
“Put on your shirt!” commanded the tyrant.
Phil drew it on over his bleeding back and resumed his place among his
comrades.
“Now!” said the padrone, beckoning to Giacomo.
The little boy approached shivering, not so much with cold as with the
fever that had already begun to prey upon him.
Phil turned pale and sick as he looked at the padrone preparing to
inflict punishment. He would gladly have left the room, but he knew that
it would not be permitted.
The first blow descended heavily upon the shrinking form of the little
victim. It was followed by a shriek of pain and terror.
“What are you howling at?” muttered the padrone, between his teeth. “I
will whip you the harder.”
Giacomo would have been less able to bear the cruel punishment than Phil
if he had been well, but being sick, it was all the more terrible to
him. The second blow likewise was followed by a shriek of anguish. Phil
looked on with pale face, set teeth, and blazing eyes, as he saw the
barbarous punishment of his comrade. He felt that he hated the padrone
with a fierce hatred. Had his strength been equal to the attempt, he
would have flung himself upon the padrone. As it was, he looked at his
comrades, half wishing that they would combine with him against their
joint oppressor. But there was no hope of that. Some congratulated
themselves that they were not in Giacomo’s place; others looked upon his
punishment as a matter of course. There was no dream of interference,
save in the mind of Phil.
The punishment continued amid the groans and prayers for mercy of the
little sufferer. But at the eighth stroke his pain and terror reached
a climax, and nature succumbed. He sank on the floor, fainting. The
padrone thought at first it was a pretense, and was about to repeat
the strokes, when a look at the pallid, colorless face of the little
sufferer alarmed him. It did not excite his compassion, but kindled
the fear that the boy might be dying, in which case the police might
interfere and give him trouble; therefore he desisted, but unwillingly.
“He is sick,” said Phil, starting forward.
“He is no more sick than I am,” scowled the padrone. “Pietro, some
water!”
Pietro brought a glass of water, which the padrone threw in the face of
the fallen boy. The shock brought him partially to. He opened his eyes,
and looked around vacantly.
“What is the matter with you?” demanded the padrone, harshly.
“Where am I?” asked Giacomo, bewildered. But, as he asked this question,
his eyes met the dark look of his tyrant, and he clasped his hands in
terror.
“Do not beat me!” he pleaded. “I feel sick.”
“He is only shamming,” said Pietro, who was worthy to be the servant and
nephew of such a master. But the padrone thought it would not be prudent
to continue the punishment.
“Help him put on his clothes, Pietro,” he said. “I will let you off this
time, little rascal, but take heed that you never again steal a single
cent of my money.”
Giacomo was allowed to seek his uncomfortable bed. His back was so sore
with the beating he had received that he was compelled to lie on his
side. During the night the feverish symptoms increased, and before
morning he was very sick. The padrone was forced to take some measures
for his recovery, not from motives of humanity, but because Giacomo’s
death would cut off a source of daily revenue, and this, in the eyes of
the mercenary padrone, was an important consideration.
Phil went to bed in silence. Though he was suffering from the brutal
blows he had received, the thought of the punishment and suffering of
Giacomo affected him more deeply than his own. As I have said, the two
boys came from the same town in southern Italy. They had known each
other almost from infancy, and something of a fraternal feeling had
grown up between them. In Phil’s case, since he was the stronger, it was
accompanied by the feeling that he should be a protector to the younger
boy, who, on his side, looked up to Phil as stronger and wiser than
himself. Though only a boy of twelve, what had happened led Phil to
think seriously of his position and prospects. He did not know for how
long his services had been sold to the padrone by his father, but he
felt sure that the letter of the contract would be little regarded as
long as his services were found profitable.
What hope, then, had he of better treatment in the future? There seemed
no prospect except of continued oppression and long days of hardship,
unless--and here the suggestion of Mr. Pomeroy occurred to him--unless
he ran away. He had known of boys doing this before. Some had been
brought back, and, of course, were punished severely for their temerity,
but others had escaped, and had never returned. What had become of them
Phil did not know, but he rightly concluded that they could not be any
worse off than in the service of the padrone. Thinking of all this, Phil
began to think it probable that he, too, would some day break his bonds
and run away. He did not fix upon any time. He had not got as far as
this. But circumstances, as we shall find in our next chapter, hastened
his determination, and this, though he knew it not, was the last night
he would sleep in the house of the padrone.