“Boy, stop playing,” said the policeman. “I don’t want to arrest these men unless I am obliged to do it.”
Phil stopped playing, and this put a stop to the dance. Finding there was no more to be seen, the crowd also dispersed. With arms again interlocked, the sailors were about to resume their walk, forgetting to “pay the piper.” But Phil was not at all bashful about presenting his claims. He took off his cap, and going up to the jolly pair said, “I want some pennies.”
Sailors are free with their money. Parsimony is not one of their vices. Both thrust their hands into their pockets, and each drew out a handful of scrip, which they put into Phil’s hands, without looking to see how much it might be.
“That’s all right, boy, isn’t it?” inquired the first.
“All right,” answered Phil, wondering at their munificence. He only anticipated a few pennies, and here looked to be as much as he was generally able to secure in a day. As soon as he got a good chance he counted it over, and found four half dollars, three quarters, and four tens—in all, three dollars and fifteen cents. At this rate, probably, the sailors’ money would not last long. However this was none of Phil’s business. It was only nine o’clock in the forenoon, and he had already secured enough to purchase immunity from blows at night. Still there was one thing unsatisfactory about it. All this money was to go into the hands of the padrone. Phil himself would reap none of the benefit, unless he bought his dinner, as he had purchased supper the evening before. But for this he had been severely punished, though he could not feel that he had done very wrong in spending the money he himself earned. However, it would be at least three hours before the question of dinner would come up.
He put the money into the pocket of his ragged vest, and walked on.
It was not so cold as the day before. The thermometer had risen twenty-five degrees during the night—a great change, but not unusual in our variable climate. Phil rather enjoyed this walk, notwithstanding his back was a little lame.
He walked up the Bowery to the point where Third and Fourth avenues converge into it. He kept on the left-hand side, and walked up Fourth Avenue, passing the Cooper Institute and the Bible House, and, a little further on, Stewart’s magnificent marble store. On the block just above stood a book and periodical store, kept, as the sign indicated, by Richard Burnton. Phil paused a moment to look in at the windows, which were filled with a variety of attractive articles. Suddenly he was conscious of his violin being forcibly snatched from under his arm. He turned quickly, and thought he recognized Tim Rafferty, to whom the reader was introduced in the third chapter of this story.