Phil shrugged his shoulders
“Always,” he answered.
“At what time do you go home?”
“At eleven.”
“It is too late for a boy of your age to sit up. Why do you not go home sooner?”
“The padrone would beat me.”
“Who is the padrone?”
“The man who brought me from Italy to America.”
“Poor boys!” said the gentleman, compassionately. “Yours is a hard life. I hope some time you will be in a better position.”
Phil fixed his dark eyes upon the stranger, grateful for his words of sympathy.