"What would you like?" asked the padrone.
Again Phil was puzzled, for the suppers supplied by the padrone
never varied, always consisting of bread and cheese.
"Perhaps," continued the padrone, meeting no answer, "you would
like to have coffee and roast beef."
All was clear now. Phil understood that he had been seen going
in or out of the restaurant, though he could not tell by whom.
He knew well enough what to expect, but a chivalrous feeling of
friendship led him to try to shield his young companion, even at
the risk of a more severe punishment to be inflicted upon
himself.
"It was my fault," he said, manfully. "Giacomo would not have
gone in but for me."
"Wicked, ungrateful boy!" exclaimed the padrone, wrathfully.
"It was my money that you spent. You are a thief!"
Phil felt that this was a hard word, which he did not deserve.
The money was earned by himself, though claimed by the padrone.
But he did not venture to say this. It would have been
revolutionary. He thought it prudent to be silent.
"Why do you say nothing?" exclaimed the padrone, stamping his
foot. "Why did you spend my money?"
"I was hungry."
"So you must live like a nobleman! Our supper is not good enough
for you.
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