PIETRO’S DISAPPOINTMENT
Though Phil had not taken in much money during the first day of
independence, he had more than paid his expenses. He started on the
second day with a good breakfast, and good spirits. He determined to
walk back to Newark, where he might expect to collect more money than in
the suburbs. If he should meet Pietro he determined not to yield without
a struggle. But he felt better now than at first, and less afraid of the
padrone.
Nine o’clock found him again in Newark. He soon came to a halt, and
began to play. A few paused to listen, but their interest in music did
not extend so far as to affect their pockets. Phil passed around his hat
in vain. He found himself likely to go unrewarded for his labors. But
just then he noticed a carriage with open door, waiting in front of
a fashionable dry-goods store. Two ladies had just come out and taken
their seats preparatory to driving off, when Phil stepped up bareheaded
and held his cap. He was an unusually attractive boy, and as he smiled
one of the ladies, who was particularly fond of children, noticed him.
“What a handsome boy!” she said to her companion.
“Some pennies for music,” said Phil.
“How old are you?” asked the lady.
“Twelve years.”
“Just the age of my Johnny. If I give you some money what will you do
with it?”
“I will buy dinner,” said Phil.
“I never give to vagrants,” said the second lady, a spinster of
uncertain age, who did not share her niece’s partiality for children.
“It isn’t his fault if he is a vagrant, Aunt Maria,” said the younger
lady.
“I have no doubt he is a thief,” continued Aunt Maria, with acerbity.
“I am not a thief,” said Phil, indignantly, for he understood very well
the imputation, and he replaced his cap on his head.
“I don’t believe you are,” said the first lady; “here, take this,” and
she put in his hand twenty-five cents.
“Thank you, signora,” said Phil, with a grateful smile.
“That money is thrown away,” said the elderly lady; “you are very
indiscriminate in your charity, Eleanor.”
“It is better to give too much than too little, Aunt Maria, isn’t it?”
“You shouldn’t give to unworthy objects.”
“How do you know this boy is an unworthy object?”
“He is a young vagrant.”
“Can he help it? It is the way he makes his living.”
The discussion continued, but Phil did not stop to hear it. He had
received more than he expected, and now felt ready to continue his
business. One thing was fortunate, and relieved him from the anxiety
which he had formerly labored under. He was not obliged to obtain a
certain sum in order to escape a beating at night. He had no master
to account to. He was his own employer, as long as he kept out of the
clutches of the padrone.
Phil continued to roam about the streets very much after the old
fashion, playing here and there as he thought it expedient. By noon he
had picked up seventy-five cents, and felt very well satisfied with his
success. But if, as we are told, the hour that is darkest is just before
day, it also happens sometimes that danger lies in wait for prosperity,
and danger menaced our young hero, though he did not know it. To explain
this, we must go back a little.
When Pietro prepared to leave the lodging-house in the morning, the
padrone called loudly to him.
“Pietro,” said he, “you must find Filippo today.”
“Where shall I go?” asked Pietro.
“Go to Newark. Filippo went there, no doubt, while you, stupid that
you are, went looking for him in Jersey City. You have been in Newark
before?”
“Yes, signore padrone.”
“Very good; then you need no directions.”
“If I do not find him in Newark, where shall I go?”
“He is in Newark,” said the padrone, confidently. “He will not leave
it.”
He judged that Phil would consider himself safe there, and would prefer
to remain in a city rather than go into the country.
“I will do my best,” said Pietro.
“I expect you to bring him back to-night.”
“I should like to do so,” said Pietro, and he spoke the truth. Apart
from his natural tendency to play the tyrant over smaller boys, he felt
a personal grudge against Phil for eluding him the day before, and so
subjecting him to the trouble of another day’s pursuit, besides the
mortification of incurring a reprimand from his uncle. Never did agent
accept a commission more readily than Pietro accepted that of catching
and bringing Filippo to the padrone.
Leaving the lodging-house he walked down to the ferry at the foot
of Cortlandt Street, and took the first train for Newark. It was ten
o’clock before he reached the city. He had nothing in particular to
guide him, but made up his mind to wander about all day, inquiring from
time to time if anyone had seen his little brother, describing Phil.
After a while his inquiries were answered in the affirmative, and he
gradually got on the track of our hero.
At twelve o’clock Phil went into a restaurant, and invested thirty cents
in a dinner. As the prices were low, he obtained for this sum all he
desired. Ten minutes afterward, as he was walking leisurely along with
that feeling of tranquil enjoyment which a full stomach is apt to give,
Pietro turned the corner behind him. No sooner did the organ-grinder
catch sight of his prey, than a fierce joy lighted up his eyes, and he
quickened his pace.
“Ah, scelerato, I have you now,” he exclaimed to himself. “To-night you
shall feel the stick.”
But opportunely for himself Phil looked behind him. When he saw Pietro
at but a few rods’ distance his heart stood still with sudden fright,
and for an instant his feet were rooted to the ground. Then the thought
of escape came to him, and he began to run, not too soon.
“Stop!” called out Pietro. “Stop, or I will kill you!”
But Phil did not comprehend the advantage of surrendering himself to
Pietro. He understood too well how he would be treated, if he returned
a prisoner. Instead of obeying the call, he only sped on the faster. Now
between the pursuer and the pursued there was a difference of six years,
Pietro being eighteen, while Phil was but twelve. This, of course, was
in Pietro’s favor. On the other hand, the pursuer was encumbered by a
hand-organ, which retarded his progress, while Phil had only a violin,
which did not delay him at all. This made their speed about equal,
and gave Phil a chance to escape, unless he should meet with some
interruption.
“Stop!” called Pietro, furiously, beginning to realize that the victory
was not yet won.
Phil looked over his shoulder, and, seeing that Pietro was no nearer,
took fresh courage. He darted round a corner, with his pursuer half a
dozen rods behind him. They were not in the most frequented parts of
the city, but in a quarter occupied by two-story wooden houses. Seeing
a front door open, Phil, with a sudden impulse, ran hastily in, closing
the door behind him.
A woman with her sleeves rolled up, who appeared to have taken her arms
from the tub, hearing his step, came out from the back room.
“What do ye want?” she demanded, suspiciously.
“Save me!” cried Phil, out of breath. “Someone is chasing me. He is bad.
He will beat me.”
The woman’s sympathies were quickly enlisted. She had a warm heart, and
was always ready to give aid to the oppressed.
“Whist, darlint, run upstairs, and hide under the bed. I’ll send him off
wid a flea in his ear, whoever he is.”
Phil was quick to take the hint. He ran upstairs, and concealed himself
as directed. While he was doing it, the lower door, which he had shut,
was opened by Pietro. He was about to rush into the house, but the
muscular form of Phil’s friend stood in his way.
“Out wid ye!” said she, flourishing a broom, which she had snatched up.
“Is that the way you inter a dacint woman’s house, ye spalpeen!”
“I want my brother,” said Pietro, drawing back a little before the
amazon who disputed his passage.
“Go and find him, thin!” said Bridget McGuire, “and kape out of my
house.”
“But he is here,” said Pietro, angrily; “I saw him come in.”
“Then, one of the family is enough,” said Bridget. “I don’t want
another. Lave here wid you!”
“Give me my brother, then!” said Pietro, provoked.
“I don’t know anything of your brother. If he looks like you, he’s a
beauty, sure,” returned Mrs. McGuire.
“Will you let me look for him?”
“Faith and I won’t. You may call him if you plase.”
Pietro knew that this would do very little good, but there seemed
nothing else to do.
“Filippo!” he called; “come here. The padrone has sent for you.”
“What was ye sayin’?” demanded Bridget not comprehending the Italian.
“I told my brother to come.”
“Then you can go out and wait for him,” said she. “I don’t want you in
the house.”
Pietro was very angry. He suspected that Phil was in the rear room, and
was anxious to search for him. But Bridget McGuire was in the way--no
light, delicate woman, but at least forty pounds heavier than Pietro.
Moreover, she was armed with a broom, and seemed quite ready to use it.
Phil was fortunate in obtaining so able a protector. Pietro looked at
her, and had a vague thought of running by her, and dragging Phil out if
he found him. But Bridget was planted so squarely in his path that this
course did not seem very practicable.
“Will you give me my brother?” demanded Pietro, forced to use words
where he would willingly have used blows.
“I haven’t got your brother.”
“He is in this house.”
“Thin he may stay here, but you shan’t,” said Bridget, and she made a
sudden demonstration with the broom, of so threatening a character
that Pietro hastily backed out of the house, and the door was instantly
bolted in his face.