As he walked through the hall, with his violin under his arm, he attracted the attention of all, it having been already made known that in place of the veteran Paul Beck—a man of fifty or more—an unknown boy would furnish the music for the evening.
Philip could not avoid hearing some of the remarks which his appearance excited. “What! that little runt play the fiddle?” said one countrified young man, in a short-waisted blue coat, and tow-colored hair, plastered down on either side of his head with tallow. “I don’t believe he can play any more than I can.”
“I hope he can,” retained his partner—a plump, red-cheeked, young farmer’s daughter. “He’s very good-looking, anyhow.”
“He isn’t anything to brag of,” said her partner jealously.
“Oh, how can you say so, Jedidiah? See what beautiful black hair and eyes he’s got, and such a lovely color on his cheeks!”
Now, Jedidiah, in appearance, was just the reverse of Philip. His hair, as already stated, was tow-color, his face was tanned, and the color rather resembled brick-dust than the deep red of our hero’s cheeks.
His partner was a rustic flirt, and he was disposed to be jealous, not being certain how far she favored him. He, therefore, took offense at his partner’s admiration of the young fiddler.
“He looks very common to me,” said Jedidiah pettishly. “You’ve got a strange taste, Maria.”
“Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven’t,” retorted Maria, tossing her head.
“Perhaps you’re in love with him?” continued Jedidiah, in a tone meant to be sarcastic.