“Well, he is going to be a great artist some day, if he isn’t one yet. Do you think, Jimmy, you could draw Phil, here, with his fiddle?”
“I think I could,” said the little boy, slowly, looking carefully at their young guest; “but it would take some time.”
“Perhaps Phil will come some day, and give you a sitting.”
“Will you come?” asked Jimmy.
“I will come some day.”
Meanwhile Mrs. Hoffman was preparing supper. Since Paul had become proprietor of the necktie stand, as described in the last volume, they were able to live with less regard to economy than before. So, when the table was spread, it presented quite a tempting appearance. Beefsteak, rolls, fried potatoes, coffee, and preserves graced the board.
“Supper is ready, Paul,” said his mother, when all was finished.
“Here, Phil, you may sit here at my right hand,” said Paul. “I will put your violin where it will not be injured.”
Phil sat down as directed, not without feeling a little awkward, yet with a sense of anticipated pleasure. Accustomed to bread and cheese alone, the modest repast before him seemed like a royal feast. The meat especially attracted him, for he had not tasted any for months, indeed seldom in his life, for in Italy it is seldom eaten by the class to which Phil’s parents belonged.
“Let me give you some meat, Phil,” said Paul. “Now, shall we drink the health of the padrone in coffee?”