“It’s nothing, Phil,” said Paul, modestly; “you would do the same for me if I needed it.”
“Yes, I would,” said Phil; “but I am poor, and I cannot help you.”
“You won’t be poor always, Phil,” said Paul, cheerfully, “nor I either, I hope. I mean to be a merchant some time on a bigger scale than now. As for you, you will be a great player, and give concerts at the Academy of Music.”
Phil laughed, but still seemed pleased at the prophecy.
“Well, Phil, I must bid you good-by for a little while, or my clerks will be cheating me. I will see you at supper.”
“Addio, Paolo,” said Phil.
“Addio,” said Paul, laughing. “Wouldn’t I make a good Italian?”
Paul returned to his stand, and Phil took the direction of Mrs. Hoffman’s rooms. While on his way he heard the sound of a hand-organ, and, looking across the way, saw, with some uneasiness, his old enemy Pietro, playing to a crowd of boys.
“I hope he won’t see me,” said Phil to himself.
He was afraid Pietro would remember his old violin, and, seeing the difference in the instrument he now had, inquire how he got it. He might, if not satisfied on this point, take Phil home with him, which would be fatal to his plans. He thought it prudent, therefore, to turn down the next street, and get out of sight as soon as possible. Fortunately for him Pietro had his back turned, so that he did not observe him. Nothing would have pleased him better than to get the little fiddler into trouble, for, besides being naturally malicious, he felt that an exhibition of zeal in his master’s service would entitle him to additional favors at the hands of the padrone, whom he hoped some day to succeed.