The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way, Jr. Horatio Alger [best contemporary novels .txt] 📗

Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca was not a wise man. It would have been much more to his interest to deal honestly with Philip, paying his share of the profits of the first performance, and retaining his services as associate and partner.

But the professor was dazzled by the money, and unwilling to give it up. Moreover, he had the vanity to think that he would draw nearly as well alone, thus retaining in his own hands the entire proceeds of any entertainments he might give.

When he met Philip on the road he was well-nigh penniless. Now, including the sum of which he had defrauded our hero and his creditors in Wilkesville, he had one hundred and fifty dollars.

When the professor went to bed, he had not formed the plan of deserting Philip; but, on awaking in the morning, it flashed upon him as an excellent step which would put money in his pocket.

He accordingly rose, dressed himself quietly, and, with one cautious look at Philip—who was fast asleep—descended the stairs to the office.

Only the bookkeeper was in the office.

“You are stirring early, professor,” he said.

“Yes,” answered Riccabocca, “I generally take a morning walk, to get an appetite for breakfast.”

“My appetite comes without the walk,” said the bookkeeper, smiling.

“If Mr. de Gray comes downstairs, please tell him I will be back soon,” said Riccabocca.

The bookkeeper readily promised to do this, not having the slightest suspicion that the distinguished professor was about to take French leave.

When Professor Riccabocca had walked half a mile he began to feel faint. His appetite had come.

“I wish I had stopped to breakfast,” he reflected. “I don't believe De Gray will be down for an hour or two.”

It was too late to go back and repair his mistake. That would spoil all. He saw across the street a baker's shop, just opening for the day, and this gave him an idea.

He entered, bought some rolls, and obtained a glass of milk, and, fortified with these, he resumed his journey.

He had walked three miles, when he was over-taken by a farm wagon, which was going his way.

He hailed the driver—a young man of nineteen or thereabouts—ascertained that he was driving to Knoxville, and, for a small sum, secured passage there.

This brings us to the point of time when Philip and Mr. Gates drove up to the hotel at Knoxville.

“I can see the professor,” said Philip, in eager excitement, when they had come within a few rods of the inn.

“Where is he?”

“He is in the office, sitting with his back to the front window. I wonder what he will have to say for himself?”

“So do I,” said the landlord curiously.

“Shall we go in together?” questioned Philip.

“No; let us surprise him a little. I will drive around to the sheds back of the hotel, and fasten my horse. Then we will go round to the front, and you can go in, while I stand outside, ready to appear a little later.”

Philip thought this a good plan. He enjoyed the prospect of confronting the rogue who had taken advantage of his inexperience, and attempted such a bold scheme of fraud. He didn't feel in the least nervous, or afraid to encounter the professor, though Riccabocca was a man and he but a boy. When all was ready, Philip entered through the front door, which was open, and, turning into the office, stood before the astonished professor.

The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero. He thought he might be quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously waiting for his return. Was his brilliant scheme to fail? He quickly took his resolution—a foolish one. He would pretend not to know Philip.

“Well, Professor Riccabocca,” Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, “you took rather a long walk this morning.”

The professor looked at him vacantly.

“Were you addressing me?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir,” answered Philip, justly provoked.

“I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man.”

“I wish I hadn't the pleasure of yours,” retorted Philip.

“Do you come here to insult me?” demanded Riccabocca, frowning.

“I came here to demand my share of the money received for the entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, the printer, and bill-poster.”

“You must be crazy!” said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't know you. I don't owe you any money.”

“Do you mean to say we didn't give an entertainment together last evening at Wilkesville?” asked Philip, rather taken aback by the man's sublime impudence.

“My young friend, you have been dreaming. Prove what you say and I will admit your claim.”

Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor's coolness, really supposed him to be in the right. That was what Riccabocca anticipated, and hoped to get off before the discovery of the truth could be made. But he did not know that Philip had a competent witness at hand.

“Mr. Gates!” called Philip.

The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and Riccaboeca saw that the game was up.

“Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that he owes me money?” asked Philip.

“I think he won't deny it now,” said Gates significantly. “He walked off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid. Professor Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you wish to pass the night in the lockup.”

Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh.

“Why, Mr. de Gray,” he said, “you ought to have known that I was only playing a trick on you.”

“I supposed you were,” said Philip.

“No, I don't mean that. I was only pretending I didn't know you, to see if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you.”

“Why did you desert me?” asked Philip suspiciously.

“I started to take a walk—didn't the bookkeeper tell you?—and finding a chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and make arrangements for our appearance here. Of course, I intended to come back, and pay our good friend, the landlord, and give you your share of the common fund.”