He must get rid of the violin in some
way, and the sooner the better. He threw it into the middle of
the street, just as a heavy cart was coming along. The wheels of
the ponderous vehicle passed over the frail instrument, crushing
it utterly. Phil ran forward to rescue his instrument, but too
late. It was spoiled beyond recovery. Phil picked up the pieces
mechanically, and took them back with him, but he soon realized
that he might as well cast them away again. Meanwhile Tim,
satisfied with the mischief he had done, and feeling revenged for
his former mortification, walked up a side street, and escaped
interference.
Phil had come to one of those crises in human experience when it
is necessary to pause and decide what to do next. The fiddle was
not a valuable one--in fact, it was a shabby little
instrument--but it was Phil's stock in trade. Moreover, it
belonged to the padrone, and however innocent Phil might be as
regarded its destruction, his tyrannical master was sure to call
him to heavy account for it. He was certain to be severely
punished, more so than the evening before, and this was not a
pleasant prospect to look forward to.
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