LORENZO RICCABOCCA.
Philip’s reputation as a musician was materially increased by his
second night’s performance. To adopt a military term, he had crossed
swords with the veteran fiddler, Paul Beck, and, in the opinion of all
who heard both, had far surpassed him.
This was said openly to Philip by more than one; but he was modest, and
had too much tact and good taste to openly agree with them. This
modesty raised him higher in the opinion of his admirers.
He was invited by the Blakes to prolong his visit, but preferred to
continue on his journey—though his plans were, necessarily, not clearly
defined.
Andrew Blake carried him five miles on his way, and from that point our
hero used the means of locomotion with which nature had supplied him.
Some six miles farther on there was a manufacturing town of
considerable size, named Wilkesville, and it occurred to him that this
would be a good place at which to pass the night.
Something might turn up for him there. He hardly knew what, but the two
unexpected strokes of luck which he had had thus far encouraged him to
think that a third might come to him.
Philip continued on his way—his small pack of clothing in one hand and
his violin under his arm. Being in no especial hurry—for it was only
the middle of the forenoon—he bethought himself to sit down and rest at
the first convenient and inviting place.
He soon came to a large elm tree, which, with its spreading branches,
offered a pleasant and grateful shade.
He threw himself down and lay back on the greensward, in pleasant
contemplation, when he heard a gentle cough—as of one who wished to
attract attention. Looking up he observed close at hand, a tall man,
dressed in black, with long hair, which fell over his shirt collar and
shoulders.
He wore a broad collar and black satin necktie, and his hair was parted
in the middle. His appearance was certainly peculiar, and excited our
hero’s curiosity.
“My young friend,” he said, “you have chosen a pleasant resting-place
beneath this umbrageous monarch of the grove.” “Yes, sir,” answered
Philip, wondering whether the stranger was a poet.
“May I also recline beneath it?” asked the newcomer.
“Certainly, sir. It is large enough to shelter us both.”
“Quite true; but I did not wish to intrude upon your meditations.”
“My meditations are not of much account,” answered Philip, laughing.
“I see you are modest. Am I right in supposing that yonder case
contains a violin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you are a musician?”
“A little of one,” replied Philip.
“May I ask—excuse my curiosity—if you play professionally?”
“Perhaps he may help me to an engagement,” thought our hero, and he
said readily, “I do.”
“Indeed!” said the stranger, appearing pleased. “What style of music do
you play?”
“For each of the last two evenings I have played for dancing-parties.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“You do not confine yourself to dancing-music?”
“Oh, no! I prefer other kinds; but dancing-tunes seem most in demand,
and I have my living to make.” The stranger seemed still more
gratified.
“I am delighted to have met you, Mr.—— Ahem!” he paused, and looked
inquiringly at Philip.
“Gray.”
“Mr. Gray, I believe Providence has brought us together. I see you are
surprised.”
Philip certainly did look puzzled, as he well might.
“I must explain myself more clearly. I am Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca,
the famous elocutionist and dramatic reader.”
Philip bowed.
“Doubtless you have heard of me?” said the professor inquiringly.
“I have never lived in large places,” answered Philip, in some
embarrassment, “or no doubt your name would be familiar to me.”
“To be sure, that must make a difference. For years,” said the
professor, “I have given dramatic readings to crowded houses, and
everywhere my merits have been conceded by the educated and refined.”
Philip could not help wondering how it happened in that case that the
professor should look so seedy. A genius appreciated so highly ought to
have brought in more gold and silver.
Perhaps Professor Riccabocca understood Philip’s expressive look, for
he went to to say:
“The public has repaid me richly for the exercise of my talent; but,
alas, my young friend, I must confess that I have no head for business.
I invested my savings unwisely, and ascertained a month since that I
had lost all.”
“That was a great pity!” said Philip sympathizingly.
“It was, indeed! It quite unmanned me!” said the professor, wiping away
a tear. “I felt that all ambition was quite gone, and I was mad and
sick. Indeed, only a week since I rose from a sick-bed. But Lorenzo is
himself again!” he exclaimed, striking his breast energetically. “I
will not succumb to Fate. I will again court the favor of the public,
and this time I will take care of the ducats my admirers bestow upon
me.”
“I should think that was a good plan,” said Philip.
“I will begin at once. Nearby is a town devoted to the mammon of trade,
yet among its busy thousands there must be many that will appreciate
the genius of Lorenzo Riccabocca.”
“I hope so,” answered Philip politely.
He could not help thinking that the professor was rather
self-conceited, and he hardly thought it in good taste for him to refer
so boastfully to his genius.
“I wish you, Mr. Gray, to assist me in my project,” continued the
professor.
“How can I do so, sir?” inquired Philip.
“Let me tell you. I propose that we enter into a professional
partnership, that we give an entertainment partly musical, partly
dramatic. I will draw up a program, including some of my most humorous
recitations and impersonations, while interspersed among them will be
musical selections contributed by yourself. Do you comprehend?”
“Yes,” answered Philip, nodding.
“And what do you think of it?”
“I think well of it,” replied the boy-musician.
He did think well of it. It might not draw a large audience, this mixed
entertainment, but it would surely pay something; and it would
interfere with no plans of his own, for, in truth, he had none.
“Then you will cooperate with me?” said the professor.
“Yes, professor.”
“Give me your hand!” exclaimed Riccabocca dramatically. “Mr. Gray, it
is a perfect bonanza of an idea. I may tell you, in confidence, I was
always a genius for ideas. Might I ask a favor of you?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Give me a touch of your quality. Let me hear you play.”
Philip drew his violin from its case and played for his new
professional partner “The Carnival of Venice,” with variations—the same
which had been received with so much favor the evening previous.
Professor Riccabocca listened attentively, and was evidently agreeably
surprised. He was not a musician, but he saw that Philip was a much
better player than he had anticipated, and this, of course, was likely
to improve their chances of pecuniary success.
“You are a splendid performer,” he said enthusiastically. “You shall
come out under my auspices and win fame. I predict for you a
professional triumph.”
“Thank you,” said Philip, gratified by this tribute from a man of
worldly experience. “I hope you will prove a true prophet.”
“And now, Mr. Gray, let us proceed on our way. We must get lodgings in
Wilkesville, and make arrangements for our entertainment. I feel new
courage, now that I have obtained so able a partner. Wilkesville little
knows what is in store for her. We shall go, see, and conquer!”
An hour later Philip and his new partner entered Wilkesville.