The eyes in his worn face were pleading. Vicki sat down in the empty seat beside him. Poor, frightened little scarecrow of a man!
She touched the violin case. “You must be a musician,” she said encouragingly.
“This isn’t a very good instrument. Just an old fiddle. I had to sell my good violin to pay for—” Again his voice broke off and he fell silent.
“You’ll be in Tampa just in time for the Gasparilla Festival,” Vicki said, trying to cheer the old gentleman up.
“The—the what?”
“The Pirate Festival. Didn’t you hear about it when you planned this trip? It’s the gayest time of the whole year.”
The old man sighed. “It isn’t as if I had exactly planned this trip.”
“Why, it sounds as if you didn’t want to go to Tampa at all, Mr. Tytell!”
“But if I—” The old man’s voice sounded scared. For an instant he closed his tired eyes. “I’m talking too much. Excuse me, miss.”
Vicki got up.