However the boys
might suffer, they must bring home the usual amount. But at
eleven o'clock the prospects seemed rather discouraging. They
had but twenty-five cents between them, nor would anyone stop to
listen to their playing.
"I wish it were night, Filippo," said Giacomo, shivering with
cold.
"So do I, Giacomo. Are you very cold?"
"Yes," said the little boy, his teeth chattering. "I wish I were
back in Italy. It is never so cold there."
"No, Giacomo; you are right. But I would not mind the cold so
much, if I had a warm overcoat like that boy," pointing out a boy
clad in a thick overcoat, and a fur cap drawn over his ears,
while his hands were snugly incased in warm gloves.
He, too, looked at the two fiddlers, and he could not help
noticing how cold they looked.
"Look here, you little chaps, are you cold? You look as if you
had just come from Greenland."
"Yes," said Phil. "We are cold."
"Your hands look red enough. Here is an old pair of gloves for
one of you. I wish I had another pair. They are not very thick,
but they are better than none."
He drew a pair of worsted gloves from his pocket, and handed them
to Phil.
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