Phil the Fiddler | Page 5

not the words."
"Then play some tunes."
Thereupon the little Italian struck up "Yankee Doodle," which he
played with spirit and evident enjoyment.
"Do you know the name of that?" asked Henry.
Phil shook his head.
"It is 'Yankee Doodle.' "
Phil tried to pronounce it, but the words in his mouth had a droll sound,
and made them laugh.
"How old are you?" asked Henry.
"Twelve years."

"Then you are quite as old as I am."
"I wish you were as well and strong as he seems to be," said Mrs. Leigh,
sighing, as she looked at Henry's pale face.
That was little likely to be. Always a delicate child, Henry had a year
previous contracted a cold, which had attacked his lungs, and had
gradually increased until there seemed little doubt that in the long
struggle with disease nature must succumb, and early death ensue.
"How long have you been in this country?"
"Un anno."
"How long is that?"
"A year," said Henry. "I know that, because 'annus' means a year in
Latin."
"Si, signor, a year," said Phil.
"And where do you come from?"
"Da Napoli."
"That means from Naples, I suppose."
"Si, signor."
Most of the little Italian musicians to be found in our streets are
brought from Calabria, the southern portion of Italy, where they are
purchased from their parents, for a fixed sum, or rate of annual
payment. But it is usual for them when questioned, to say that they
come from Naples, that being the principal city in that portion of Italy,
or indeed in the entire kingdom.
"Who do you live with," continued Henry.
"With the padrone."

"And who is the padrone?"
"He take care of me--he bring me from Italy."
"Is he kind to you?"
Phil shrugged his shoulders.
"He beat me sometimes," he answered.
"Beats you? What for?"
"If I bring little money."
"Does he beat you hard?"
"Si, signor, with a stick."
"He must be a bad man," said Henry, indignantly.
"How much money must you carry home?"
"Two dollars."
"But it isn't your fault, if people will not give you money."
"Non importa. He beat me."
"He ought to be beaten himself."
Phil shrugged his shoulders. Like most boys of his class, to him the
padrone seemed all-powerful. The idea that his oppressive taskmaster
should be punished for his cruelty had never dawned upon him.
Knowing nothing of any law that would protect him, he submitted to it
as a necessity, from which there was no escape except by running away.
He had not come to that yet, but some of his companions had done so,
and he might some day.
After this conversation he played another tune. Mrs. Leigh drew out her

purse, and gave him fifty cents. Phil took his fiddle under his arm, and,
following the servant, who now reappeared, emerged into the street,
and moved onward.

CHAPTER II
PHIL AND HIS PROTECTOR
To a certain extent Phil was his own master; that is, he was at liberty to
wander where he liked, provided he did not neglect his business, and
returned to the lodging-house at night with the required sum of money.
But woe to him if he were caught holding back any of the money for
his own use. In that case, he would be beaten, and sent to bed without
his supper, while the padrone, according to the terms of his contract
with the distant parent would withhold from the amount due the latter
ten times the sum kept by the boy. In the middle of the day he was
allowed to spend three cents for bread, which was the only dinner
allowed him. Of course, the boys were tempted to regale themselves
more luxuriously, but they incurred a great risk in doing so. Sometimes
the padrone followed them secretly, or employed others to do so, and
so was able to detect them. Besides, they traveled, in general, by twos
and threes, and the system of espionage was encouraged by the padrone.
So mutual distrust was inspired, and the fear of being reported made
the boys honest.
Phil left the house of Mr. Leigh in good spirits. Though he had earned
nothing before, the fifty cents he had just received made a good
beginning, and inspired in him the hope of getting together enough to
save him a beating, for one night at least.
He walked down toward Sixth Avenue, and turning the corner walked
down town. At length he paused in front of a tobacconist's shop, and
began to play. But he had chosen an unfortunate time and place. The
tobacconist had just discovered a deficiency in his money account,
which he suspected to be occasioned by the dishonesty of his assistant.
In addition to this he had risen with a headache, so