Phil, the Fiddler, Jr. Horatio Alger [best novels to read .txt] 📗

Paul returned to his stand, and Phil took the direction of Mrs. Hoffman’s rooms. While on his way he heard the sound of a hand-organ, and, looking across the way, saw, with some uneasiness, his old enemy Pietro, playing to a crowd of boys.

“I hope he won’t see me,” said Phil to himself.

He was afraid Pietro would remember his old violin, and, seeing the difference in the instrument he now had, inquire how he got it. He might, if not satisfied on this point, take Phil home with him, which would be fatal to his plans. He thought it prudent, therefore, to turn down the next street, and get out of sight as soon as possible. Fortunately for him Pietro had his back turned, so that he did not observe him. Nothing would have pleased him better than to get the little fiddler into trouble, for, besides being naturally malicious, he felt that an exhibition of zeal in his master’s service would entitle him to additional favors at the hands of the padrone, whom he hoped some day to succeed.

“Oh, what a beautiful fiddle!” said Jimmy, in admiration, as Phil reappeared. “Do you think I could play on it?”

Phil shook his head, smiling.

“Don’t let Jimmy have it. He would only spoil it,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I don’t think he would succeed as well in music as in drawing.”

“Will you play something?” asked Jimmy.

Phil willingly complied, and for half an hour held Jimmy entranced with his playing. The little boy then undertook to teach Phil how to draw, but at this Phil probably cut as poor a figure as his instructor would have done at playing on the violin.

So the afternoon wore away, happily for all three, and at five Paul made his appearance. When supper was over Phil played again, and this attracting the attention of the neighbors, Mrs. Hoffman’s rooms were gradually filled with visitors, who finally requested Phil to play some dancing tunes. Finding him able to do so, an impromptu dance was got up, and Mrs. Hoffman, considerably to her surprise, found that she was giving a dancing-party. Paul, that nothing might be left out, took a companion with him and they soon reappeared with cake and ice cream, which were passed around amid great hilarity; and it was not until midnight that the last visitor went out, and the sound of music and laughter was hushed.

“You are getting fashionable in your old age, mother,” said Paul, gayly. “I think I shall send an account of your party to the Home Journal.”

“I believe it is usual to describe the dresses of the ladies,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.

“Oh, yes, I won’t forget that. Just give me a piece of paper and see how I will do it.”

Paul, whose education, I repeat here, was considerably above that of most boys in his position, sat down and hastily wrote the following description, which was read to the great amusement of his auditors:

“Mrs. Hoffman, mother of the well-known artist, Jimmy Hoffman, Esq., gave a fashionable party last evening. Her spacious and elegant apartments were crowded with finely dressed gentlemen and ladies from the lower part of the city. Signor Filippo, the great Italian musician, furnished the music. Mrs. Hoffman appeared in a costly calico dress, and had a valuable gold ring on one of her fingers. Her son, the artist, was richly dressed in a gray suit, purchased a year since. Miss Bridget Flaherty, of Mott Street, was the belle of the occasion, and danced with such grace and energy that the floor came near giving away beneath her fairy tread. [Miss Flaherty, by the way, weighed one hundred and eighty pounds.] Mr. Mike Donovan, newspaper merchant, handed round refreshments with his usual graceful and elegant deportment. Miss Matilda Wiggins appeared in a magnificent print dress, imported from Paris by A. T. Stewart, and costing a shilling a yard. No gloves were worn, as they are now dispensed with in the best society. At a late hour the guests dispersed. Mrs. Hoffman’s party will long be remembered as the most brilliant of the season.”

“I did not know you had so much talent for reporting, Paul,” said his mother. “You forgot one thing, however.”

“What is that?”

“You said nothing of yourself.”

“I was too modest, mother. However, if you insist upon it, I will do so. Anything at all to please you.”

Paul resumed his writing and in a short time had the following:

“Among those present we observed the handsome and accomplished Paul Hoffman, Esq., the oldest son of the hostess. He was elegantly dressed in a pepper-and-salt coat and vest, blue necktie, and brown breeches, and wore a six-cent diamond breastpin in the bosom of his shirt. His fifteen-cent handkerchief was perfumed with cologne which he imported himself at a cost of ten cents per bottle. He attracted general admiration.”

“You seem to have got over your modesty, Paul,” said his mother.

“I am sleepy,” said Jimmy, drowsily rubbing his eyes.

As this expressed the general feeling, they retired to bed at once, and in half an hour were wandering in the land of dreams.