The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way, Jr. Horatio Alger [best contemporary novels .txt] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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Philip's eyes sparkled.
“And how much will that be over and above expenses?” he asked.
“My dear Mr. de Gray, we will settle all bills, and make a fair and equitable division, in the morning. I think there will be a little more than fifty dollars to come to each of us.”
“Fifty dollars for one evening's work!” repeated Philip, his eyes sparkling.
“Oh, I have done much better than that,” said the professor. “I remember once at St. Louis I made for myself alone one hundred and eighty dollars net, and in Chicago a little more.”
“I didn't think it was such a money-making business,” said Philip, elated.
“Yes, Mr. de Gray, the American people are willing to recognize talent, when it is genuine. You are on the threshold of a great career, my dear young friend.”
“And only a week since I was in the Norton Poorhouse,” thought Philip. “It is certainly a case of romance in real life.”
The two went to bed soon, being fatigued by their exertions. The apartment was large, and contained two beds, a larger and smaller one. The latter was occupied by our hero.
When he awoke in the morning, the sun was shining brightly into the room. Philip looked toward the opposite bed. It was empty.
“Professor Riccabocca must have got up early,” he thought. “Probably he did not wish to wake me.”
He dressed and went downstairs.
“Where is the professor?” he asked of the clerk.
“He started away two hours since—said he was going to take a walk. Went away without his breakfast, too. He must be fond of walking.”
Philip turned pale. He was disturbed by a terrible suspicion. Had the professor gone off for good, carrying all the money with him?
CHAPTER XXIX. BESET BY CREDITORS.
Philip was still a boy, and though he had discovered that the professor was something of a humbug, and a good deal of a braggart, it had not for a moment occurred to him that he would prove dishonest. Even now he did not want to believe it, though he was nervously apprehensive that it might prove true.
“I will take my breakfast,” he said, as coolly as was possible, “and the professor will probably join me before I am through.”
The clerk and the landlord thought otherwise. They were pretty well convinced that Riccabocca was dishonest, and quietly sent for those to whom the “combination” was indebted: namely, the printer and publisher of the Daily Bulletin, the agent of the music-hall, and the bill-sticker who had posted notices of the entertainment. These parties arrived while Philip was at breakfast.
“Gentlemen,” said the landlord, “the boy is at breakfast. I think he is all right, but I don't know. The professor, I fear, is a swindle.”
“The boy is liable for our debts,” said the agent. “He belongs to the combination.”
“I am afraid he is a victim as well as you,” said the landlord. “He seemed surprised to hear that the professor had gone out.”
“It may all be put on. Perhaps he is in the plot, and is to meet the old fraud at some place fixed upon, and divide the booty,” suggested the agent.
“The boy looks honest,” said the landlord. “I like his appearance. We will see what he has to say.”
So when Philip had finished his breakfast he was summoned to the parlor, where he met the creditors of the combination.
“These gentlemen,” said the landlord, “have bills against you and the professor. It makes no difference whether they receive pay from you or him.”
Poor Philip's heart sank within him.
“I was hoping Professor Riccabocca had settled your bills,” he said. “Please show them to me.”
This was done with alacrity.
Philip found that they owed five dollars for the hall, five dollars for advertising and printing, and one dollar for bill-posting—eleven dollars in all.
“Mr. Gates,” said our hero uneasily, to the landlord, “did Professor Riccabocca say anything about coming back when he went out this morning?”
“He told my clerk he would be back to breakfast,” said the landlord; adding, with a shrug of the shoulders: “That was two hours and a half ago. He can't be very hungry.”
“He didn't pay his bill, I suppose?”
“No, of course not. He had not given up his room.”
Philip became more and more uneasy.
“Didn't you know anything about his going out?” asked the landlord.
“No, sir. I was fast asleep.”
“Is the professor in the habit of taking long morning walks?”
“I don't know.”
“That is strange, since you travel together,” remarked the publisher.
“I never saw him till day before yesterday,” said Philip.
The creditors looked at each other significantly. They began to suspect that Philip also was a victim.
“Do you know how much money was received for tickets last evening?”
“About a hundred and fifty dollars.”
“How much of this were you to receive?”
“Half of what was left after the bills were paid.”
“Have you received it?” asked the agent.
“Not a cent,” answered Philip.
“What do you think about the situation?”
“I think that Professor Riccabocca has swindled us all,” answered Philip promptly.
“Our bills ought to be paid,” said the agent, who was rather a hard man in his dealings.
“I agree with you,” said Philip. “I wish I were able to pay them, but I have only six dollars in my possession.”
“That will pay me, and leave a dollar over,” suggested the agent.
“If it comes to that,” said the printer, “I claim that I ought to be paid first.”
“I am a poor man,” said the bill-sticker. “I need my money.”
Poor Philip was very much disconcerted. It was a new thing for him to owe money which he could not repay.
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