“Sho! do you make it pay?”
“Pretty well, so far; but I think when I get to New York I shall try something else.”
“Are you a musician as well as he?” asked the farmer of Henry.
“No, sir.”
“Come, father, you’d better sit down to supper, and do your talking afterward,” said the farmer’s wife.
So they sat down to the table, and all did full justice to the wholesome fare, particularly Henry, who felt absolutely ravenous.
Never at the luxurious home of his father, in Madison Avenue, had the wandering city boy enjoyed his supper as much as at the plain table of this country farmer.
The good mistress of the household was delighted at the justice done to her viands, considering it a tribute to her qualities as a cook.
When Philip produced his purse to pay for their supper, the farmer absolutely refused to receive anything. “But I would rather pay,” persisted our hero.
“Then I’ll tell you how you may pay. Give us one or two tunes on your violin.”