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and I used to play with her. She told me of my mother."

"That's lucky, Phil. I hope your mother is well."
"She is not sick, but she is thin. She thinks of me," said Phil.

"Of course she does. You will go home and see her some day."
"I hope so."

"Of course you will," said Paul, confidently.
"I saw the boy who stole my fiddle," continued Phil.

"Tim Rafferty?"
"Yes."

"What did he say?"
"I was with a bootblack--the one they call 'Ragged Dick.' Do you

know him?"
"Yes; I know Dick. He is a bully fellow, always joking."

"Dick wanted to lick him, but a policeman came, and he went
away."

"Does Dick know that he stole your fiddle?"
"Yes."

"Then he will be sure to punish him. It will save me the
trouble."

The walk was not long. Soon they were at Paul's door.
"I have brought company to dinner, mother," said Paul, entering

first.
"I am glad to see you, Phil," said Mrs. Hoffman. "Why have you

not come before?"
"How is that, Phil? Will you stay now?" said Paul.

Mrs. Hoffman looked at Paul inquiringly.
"Phil was afraid he would not be welcome," he exclaimed.

"He is always welcome," said Mrs. Hoffman.
"Where is your fiddle?" asked Jimmy.

"A boy took it," said Phil, "and threw it into the street, and a
wagon went over it and broke it."

Jimmy was quite indignant for his friend, when the story had been
told.

"It's lucky for Tim Rafferty that he is not here," said Paul, "or
he might suffer."

"If I was a big boy I'd lick him," said Jimmy, belligerently.
"I never saw you so warlike before, Jimmy," said Paul.

To Phil this sympathy seemed pleasant. He felt that he was in
the midst of friends, and friends were not so plentiful as not to

be valued.
"What are you going to have for dinner, mother?" asked Paul.

"I am sorry, Paul, that I have no warm meat. I have some cold
roast beef, some hot potatoes, and an apple pudding."

"You needn't apologize, mother. That's good enough for anybody.
It's as good as Phil gets at his boarding house, I am sure. He

has got rather tired of it, and isn't going to stay."
"Are you going to leave the padrone?" asked Mrs. Hoffman, with

interest.
"Si, signora," said Phil.

"Will he let you go?"
"I shall run away," said Phil.

"You see, mother, Phil would be sure of a beating if he went home
without his fiddle. Now he doesn't like to be beaten, and the

padrone gives harder beatings than you do, mother."
"I presume so," said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling. "I do not think I am

very severe."
"No, you spoil the rod and spare the child."

"Is Phil going to stay in the city?"
"No; the padrone would get hold of him if he did. He is going to

New Jersey to make his fortune."
"But he will need a fiddle."

"I am going to lend him money enough to buy one. I know a
pawnbroker who has one for sale. I think I can get it for three

or four dollars. When Phil gets it he is going around giving
concerts. How much can you make in a day, Phil?"

"Sometimes I make two dollars," answered Phil.
"That is excellent, especially when you are your own padrone.

You will be able to save up money. You will have to buy a
pocketbook, Phil."

"Where will you sleep, Phil?" asked Jimmy, interested.
Phil shrugged his shoulders. He had not thought of that question

particularly.
"I don't know," he said. "I can sleep anywhere."

"Of course he will stop at the first-class hotels, Jimmy," said
Paul, "like all men of distinction. I shouldn't wonder if he

married an heiress in six months, and went back to Italy on a
bridal tour."

"He is too young to be married," said Jimmy, who, it will be
perceived, understood everything literally.

"I don't know but he is," said Paul, "but he isn't too old to be
hungry. So, mother, whenever dinner is ready we shall be."

"It is all ready except peeling the potatoes, Paul."
"We can do that ourselves. It is good exercise, and will sharpen

our appetites. You will have to eat fast or there won't be much
left. Jimmy is the most tremendous eater I ever saw, and won't

leave much for the rest of us, if we give him the chance."
"Now, Paul," expostulated Jimmy, feeling aggrieved at this

charge, "you know I don't eat as much as you do."
"Hear him talk, Phil. I don't eat more than enough to keep a fly

alive."
"It must be a pretty large fly, Paul," said Jimmy, slyly.

"Good joke, Jimmy. Mother, you must give Jimmy twelve potatoes
to-day instead of the ten he usually eats."

"Oh, Paul, how can you tell such stories?" exclaimed Jimmy,
shocked at such an extravagantassertion. Phil laughed, for

there was something ludicrous in the idea of Jimmy, who was a
slight boy of seven, making away with such a large quantity, and

the little boy began to see that it was a joke at his expense.
The dinner went off well. All had a good appetite, and did full

justice to Mrs. Hoffman's cookery. The pudding in particular was
pronounced a success. It was so flaky and well-seasoned, and the

sauce, flavored with lemon, was so good, that everyone except
Mrs. Hoffman took a second piece. For the first time since he

had left Italy, Phil felt the uncomfortablesensation of having
eaten too much. However, with the discomfort was the pleasant

recollection of a good dinner, and to the mind of the little
fiddler the future brightened, as it is very apt to do under such

circumstances, and he felt ready to go out and achieve his
fortune.

"Why won't you stop with us to-night, Phil, and start on your
journey to-morrow?" asked Mrs. Hoffman. "I am sure Jimmy would

be glad of your company."
"Yes, Phil, stay," said Paul.

Phil hesitated. It was a temptinginvitation, but, on the other
hand, if he remained in the city till the next day he might be in

danger from the padrone.
He expressed this fear.

"I am afraid the padrone would catch me," he said.
"No, he won't. You can go out with me and buy the fiddle now,

and then come back and play to mother and Jimmy. To-morrow
morning I will go with you to the Jersey City Ferry myself, and

if we meet the padrone, I'll give him a hint to be off."
Phil still hesitated, but finally yielded to the united request.

But it was now one o'clock, and Paul must be back to his
business. Phil took his cap and went with him to purchase the

fiddle, promising to come back directly.
They went into Chatham Street, and soon halted before a small

shop, in front of which were three gilt balls, indicating that it
was a pawnbroker's shop.

Entering, they found themselves in a small apartment, about
twelve feet front by twenty in depth, completely filled with

pawnable articles in great variety a large part, however,
consisting of clothing; for when the poor have occasion to raise

money at a pawnbroker's, they generally find little in their
possession to pawn except their clothing. Here was a shawls

pawned for a few shillings by a poor woman whose intemperate
husband threw the burden of supporting two young children upon

her. Next to it was a black coat belonging to a clerk, who had
been out of employment for three months, and now was out of money

also. Here was a child's dress, pawned by the mother in dire
necessity to save the child from starving. There was a plain

gold ring, snatched by a drunken husband from the finger of his
poor wife, not to buy food, but to gratify his insatiable craving

for drink.
Over this scene of confusion presided a little old man with blear

eyes and wrinkled face, but with a sharp glance, fully alive to
his own interests. He was an Englishman born, but he had been

forty years in America. He will be remembered by those who have
read "Paul the Peddler." Though nearly as poverty-stricken in

appearance as his poorest customers, the old man was rich, if
reports were true. His business was a very profitable one,

allowing the most exorbitant rates of interest, and, being a
miser, he spent almost nothing on himself, so that his hoards had

increased to a considerable amount.
He looked up sharply, as Paul and Phil entered, and scanned them

closely with his ferret-like eyes.
CHAPTER XVI

THE FASHIONABLE PARTY
Eliakim Henderson, for this was the pawnbroker's name, did not

remember Paul, though on one occasion our hero had called upon
him. Nearly all his customers came to pawn articles, not to

purchase, and Eliakim naturally supposed that the two boys had
come on this errand. Before entering, Paul said to Phil, "Don't

say anything; leave me to manage."
As they entered, Phil espied a fiddlehanging up behind the

counter, and he saw at a glance that it was better than the one
he had been accustomed to play upon. But to his surprise, Paul

did not refer to it at first.
"What will you give me on this coat?" asked Paul, indicating the

one he had on.
He had no intention of selling it, but preferred to come to the

fiddle gradually, that the pawnbroker might not think that was
his main object, and so charge an extra price.

Eliakim scanned the garment critically. It was nearly new and in
excellent condition, and he coveted it.

"I will give you a dollar," said he, naming a price low enough to
advance upon.

"That is too little," said Paul, shaking his head.
"I might give you fifty cents more, but I should lose if you

didn't redeem it."
"I don't think you would. I paid ten dollars for it."

"But it is old."
"No, it isn't; I have only had it a few weeks."

"How much do you want on it?" asked Eliakim, scanning Paul
sharply, to see how much he seemed in want of money.

"I don't want any to-day. If I should want some next week, I
will come in."

"It will be older next week," said Eliakim, not wanting to lose
the bargain, for he hoped it would not be redeemed.

"Never mind; I can get along till then."
"Can I do no business with you this morning?" asked Eliakim,

disappointed.
"I don't know," said Paul, looking carelessly around. "My friend

here would like a fiddle, if he can get one cheap. What do you
ask for that one up there?"

Eliakim took down the fiddle with alacrity. He had had it on
hand for a year without securing a customer. It had originally

been pawned by a poor musician, for a dollar and a quarter, but
the unfortunate owner had never been able to redeem it. Among

his customers, the pawnbroker had not found one sufficiently
musical to take it off his hands. Here was a slight chance, and



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