Phil the Fiddler | Page 6

that he was in a

decidedly bad humor. Music had no charms for him at that moment,
and he no sooner heard the first strains of Phil's violin than he rushed
from the shop bareheaded, and dashed impetuously at the young
fiddler.
"Get away from my shop, you little vagabond!" he cried. "If I had my
way, you should all be sent out of the country."
Phil was quick to take a hint. He saw the menace in the shopkeeper's
eyes, and, stopping abruptly, ran farther down the street, hugging his
fiddle, which he was afraid the angry tobacconist might seize and break.
This, to him, would be an irreparable misfortune and subject him to a
severe punishment, though the fault would not be his.
Next he strolled into a side street, and began to play in front of some
dwelling-houses. Two or three young children, who had been playing
in the street, gathered about him, and one of them gave him a penny.
They were clamorous for another tune, but Phil could not afford to
work for nothing, and, seeing no prospects of additional pay, took his
violin, and walked away, much to the regret of his young auditors, who,
though not rich, were appreciative. They followed him to the end of the
block, hoping that he would play again, but they were disappointed.
Phil played two or three times more, managing to obtain in all
twenty-five cents additional. He reached the corner of Thirteenth Street
just as the large public school, known as the Thirteenth Street School,
was dismissed for its noon intermission.
"Give us a tune, Johnny," cried Edward Eustis, one of the oldest boys.
"Yes, a tune," joined in several others.
This was an invitation to which Phil was always willing to respond.
Besides, he knew from experience that boys were more generous, in
proportion to their means, than those of larger growth, and he hoped to
get enough from the crowd around him to increase his store to a dollar.
The boys gathered around the little minstrel, who struck up an Italian

tune, but without the words.
"Sing, sing!" cried the boys.
Phil began to sing. His clear, fresh voice produced a favorable
impression upon the boys.
"He's a bully singer," said one. "I can't sing much better myself."
"You sing! Your singing would be enough to scare a dozen tom cats."
"Then we should be well matched. Look here, Johnny, can't you sing
something in English?"
Phil, in response to this request, played and sang "Shoo Fly!" which
suiting the boys' taste, he was called upon to repeat.
The song being finished, Edward Eustis took off his cap, and went
around the circle.
"Now, boys, you have a chance to show your liberality," he said. "I'll
start the collection with five cents."
"That's ahead of me," said James Marcus. "Justice to a large and
expensive family will prevent me contributing anything more than two
cents."
"The smallest favors thankfully received," said Edward.
"Then take that, and be thankful," said Tom Lane, dropping in a penny.
"I haven't got any money," said Frank Gaylord, "but here's an apple;"
and he dropped a large red apple into the cap.
Phil; watching with interest the various contributions, was best pleased
with the last. The money he must carry to the padrone. The apple he
might keep for himself, and it would vary agreeably his usual meager
fare.

"The biggest contribution yet," said Edward.
"Here, Sprague, you are liberal. What'll you give?"
"My note at ninety days."
"You might fail before it comes due."
"Then take three cents. 'Tis all I have; 'I can no more, though poor the
offering be.' "
"Oh, don't quote Shakespeare."
"It isn't Shakespeare; it's Milton."
"Just as much one as the other."
"Here, Johnny," said Edward, after going the rounds, "hold your hands,
and I'll pour out the money. You can retire from business now on a
fortune."
Phil was accustomed to be addressed as Johnny, that being the generic
name for boy in New York. He deposited the money in his pocket, and,
taking his fiddle, played once more in acknowledgment of the donation.
The boys now dispersed, leaving Phil to go on his way. He took out the
apple with the intention of eating it, when a rude boy snatched it from
his hand.
"Give it back," said Phil, angrily.
"Don't you wish you may get it?" said the other, holding it out of his
reach.
The young musician had little chance of redress. his antagonist was a
head taller than himself, and, besides, he would not have dared lay
down his fiddle to fight, lest it might be broken.
"Give it to me," he said, stamping his foot.

"I mean to eat it myself," said the other, coolly. "It's too good for the