The young musician had little chance of redress. his antagonist
was a head taller than himself, and, besides, he would not have
dared lay down his fiddle to fight, lest it might be broken.
"Give it to me," he said, stamping his foot.
"I mean to eat it myself," said the other, coolly. "It's too
good for the likes of you."
"You're a thief."
"Don't you call me names, you little Italian ragamuffin, or I'll
hit you," said the other, menacingly.
"It is my apple."
"I'm going to eat it."
But the speaker was mistaken. As he held the apple above his
head, it was suddenly snatched from him. He looked around
angrily, and confronted Edward Eustis, who, seeing Phil's trouble
from a little distance, had at once come to his rescue.
"What did you do that for?" demanded the thief.
"What did you take the boy's apple for?"
"Because I felt like it."
"Then I took it from you for the same reason."
"Do you want to fight?" blustered the rowdy.
"Not particularly."
"Then hand me back that apple," returned the other.
"Thank you; I shall only hand it to the rightful owner--that
little Italian boy. Are you not ashamed to rob him?"
"Do you want to get hit?"
"I wouldn't advise you to do it.
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