“I might have got twenty-five cents more,” he thought regretfully; and this thought disturbed the complacency he felt at first.
“Well, Phil, how do you like it?” asked Paul, as they emerged into the street.
“Let me try it,” said Phil, eagerly.
He struck up a tune, which he played through, his face expressing the satisfaction he felt.
“Is it as good as your old one?”
“It is much better,” said Phil. “I will pay you for it;” and he drew out the money the sailors had given him in the morning.
“No, Phil,” said his friend, “you may need that money. Keep it, and pay me when you have more.”
“But I shall be away.”
“You will come to the city some day. When you do you will know where to find me. Now go and play a tune to Jimmy. He is waiting for you. If you remain in the streets, your old enemy, Tim Rafferty, may want to borrow your fiddle again.”
“You are very kind to me, Paolo,” said Phil, raising his dark eyes with a sudden impulse of gratitude.