Part 19 (1/2)
”I don't know.”
”I'll tell you what I will do, Phil,” said Paul, after a moment's thought. ”I know a p.a.w.nbroker's shop on Chatham Street where there is a fiddle for sale. I don't think it will cost very much; not more than five dollars. You must buy it.”
”I have not five dollars,” said Phil.
”Then I will lend you the money. You shall buy it, and when you have earned money enough you shall come back to New York some day and pay me.”
”Thank you,” said Phil, gratefully. ”I will surely pay you.”
”Of course you will, Phil,” said Paul, confidently. ”I can see by your face that you are honest. I don't believe you would cheat your friend.”
”I would not cheat you, Signor Paul.”
”I see, Phil, you are bound to make an Italian of me. You may just call me Paul, and don't mind about the signor. Now I'll tell you what I propose. I cannot leave my business for an hour and a half. You can go where you please, but come back at that time, and I will take you home to dinner with me. On the way back I will stop with you at the Chatham Street store and ask the price of the violin; then, if it doesn't cost too much, I will buy it.”
”All right,” said Phil.
”You must come back at twelve o'clock, Phil.”
”I will come.”
Phil strolled down to the Battery, feeling a little strange without his violin. He was elated with the thought of his coming freedom, and for the first time since he landed in America the future looked bright to him.
CHAPTER XIV
THE TAMBOURINE GIRL
Arriving at Trinity Church, Phil turned into Wall Street, looking about him in a desultory way, for he was at present out of business. Men and boys were hurrying by in different directions, to and from banks and insurance offices, while here and there a lawyer or lawyer's clerk might be seen looking no less busy and preoccupied. If Phil had had three thousand dollars instead of three, he, too, might have been interested in the price of gold and stocks; but his financial education had been neglected, and he could not have guessed within twenty the day's quotations for either.
As he walked along his attention was suddenly drawn to a pair of Italians, a man and a girl of twelve, the former turning a hand-organ, the latter playing a tambourine. There was nothing unusual in the group; but Phil's heart beat quick for in the girl he thought he recognized a playmate from the same village in which he was born and bred.
”Lucia!” he called, eagerly approaching the pair.
The girl turned quickly, and, seeing the young fiddler, let fall her tambourine in surprise.
”Filippo!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with the joy with which we greet a friend's face in a strange land.
”Why did you drop your tambourine, scelerata?” demanded the man, harshly.
Lucia, a pretty, brown-faced girl, did not lose her joyful look even at this rebuke. She stooped and picked up the tambourine, and began to play mechanically, but continued to speak to Filippo.
”How long are you in the city?” asked Phil, speaking, of course, in his native language.
”Only two weeks,” answered Lucia. ”I am so glad to see you, Filippo.”
”When did you come from Italy?”
”I cannot tell. I think it is somewhere about two months.”