Phil was right in supposing that Pietro would take passage on the next boat. He waited impatiently on the drop till it touched, and sprang on board. He cursed the interval of delay, fearing that it would give Phil a chance to get away. However, there was no help for this. Time and tide wait for no man, but it often happens that we are compelled to wait for them. But at length the boat touched the Jersey shore, and Pietro sprang out and hurried to the gates, looking eagerly on all sides for a possible glimpse of the boy he sought. He did not see him, for the cars were already on their way, but his eyes lighted up with satisfaction as they lighted on Paul, whom he recognized as the companion of Phil. He had seen him talking to the little fiddler. Probably he would know where he had gone. He walked up to Paul, who was standing near, and, touching his cap, said: “Excuse me, signore, but have you seen my little brother?”
“Your little brother?” repeated Paul, deliberately.
“Si, signore, a little boy with a fiddle. He was so high;” and Pietro indicated the height of Phil correctly by his hand.
“There was a boy came over in the boat with me,” said Paul.
“Yes, yes; he is the one, signore,” said Pietro, eagerly.
“And he is your brother?”
“Si, signore.”
“That’s a lie,” thought Paul, “I should know it even if Phil had not told me. Phil is a handsome little chap. He wouldn’t have such a villainous-looking brother as you.”
“Can you tell me where he has gone?” asked Pietro, eagerly.
“Didn’t he tell you where he was going?” asked Paul, in turn.