So mutual distrust was
inspired, and the fear of being reported made the boys honest.
Phil left the house of Mr. Leigh in good spirits. Though he had
earned nothing before, the fifty cents he had just received made
a good beginning, and inspired in him the hope of getting
together enough to save him a beating, for one night at least.
He walked down toward Sixth Avenue, and turning the corner walked
down town. At length he paused in front of a tobacconist's shop,
and began to play. But he had chosen an unfortunate time and
place. The tobacconist had just discovered a deficiency in his
money account, which he suspected to be occasioned by the
dishonesty of his assistant. In addition to this he had risen
with a headache, so that he was in a decidedly bad humor. Music
had no charms for him at that moment, and he no sooner heard the
first strains of Phil's violin than he rushed from the shop
bareheaded, and dashed impetuously at the young fiddler.
"Get away from my shop, you little vagabond!" he cried. "If I
had my way, you should all be sent out of the country."
Phil was quick to take a hint. He saw the menace in the
shopkeeper's eyes, and, stopping abruptly, ran farther down the
street, hugging his fiddle, which he was afraid the angry
tobacconist might seize and break.
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