I'll make more money that way
than blackin' boots."
"A great fiddler you'd make, Tim Rafferty."
"Can't I play, then? Lend me your fiddle, Johnny, till I try it
a little."
Phil shook his head.
"Give it to me now; I won't be hurtin' it."
"You'll break it."
"Then I'll pay for it."
"It isn't mine."
"Whose is it, then?"
"The padrone's."
"And who's the padrone?"
"The man I live with. If the fiddle is broken, he will beat me."
"Then he's an ould haythen, and you may tell him so, with Tim
Rafferty's compliments. But I won't hurt it."
Phil, however, feared to trust the violin in unskillful hands.
He knew the penalty if any harm befell it, and he had no mind to
run the risk. So he rose from the seat, and withdrew to a little
distance, Tim Rafferty following, for, though he cared little at
first, he now felt determined to try the fiddle.
"If you don't give it to me I'll put a head on you," he said.
"You shall not have it," said Phil, firmly, for he, too, could be
determined.
"The little chap's showing fight," said Tim's companion. "Look
out, Tim; he'll mash you."
"I can fight him wid one hand," said Tim.
He advanced upon our young hero, who, being much smaller, would
probably have been compelled to yield to superior force but for
an interference entirely unexpected by Tim.
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