“He isn’t big enough to take you away if I am with you.”
Paul did not say this boastfully, but with a quiet confidence in his own powers in which he was justified. Though by no means quarrelsome, he had on several occasions been forced in self-defense into a contest with boys of his own size, and in some instances larger, and in every case he had acquitted himself manfully, and come off victorious.
“I should not be afraid if you were with me, Paolo,” said Phil.
“You are right, Phil,” said Paul, approvingly. “But here we are at the ferry.”
Cortlandt Street is a short distance below the Astor House, and leads to the ferry, connecting on the other side with trains bound for Philadelphia and intermediate places.
Paul paid the regular toll, and passed through the portal with Phil.
“Are you going with me?” asked the little fiddler, in surprise.
“Only to Jersey City, Phil. There might be some of your friends on board the boat. I want to see you safe on the cars. Then I must leave you.”
“You are very kind, Paolo.”
“You are a good little chap, Phil, and I mean to help you. But the boat is about ready to start. Let us go on board.”