"Wait and see. If you don't like what she says you can go off
without eating. Where have you been?"
"I went down to Wall Street."
"On business?" inquired Paul, with a smile.
"No," said Phil, seriously. "I saw Lucia."
"Who is she?"
"I forgot. You don't know Lucia. She lived in my home in Italy,
and I used to play with her. She told me of my mother."
"That's lucky, Phil. I hope your mother is well."
"She is not sick, but she is thin. She thinks of me," said Phil.
"Of course she does. You will go home and see her some day."
"I hope so."
"Of course you will," said Paul, confidently.
"I saw the boy who stole my fiddle," continued Phil.
"Tim Rafferty?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"I was with a bootblack--the one they call 'Ragged Dick.' Do you
know him?"
"Yes; I know Dick. He is a bully fellow, always joking."
"Dick wanted to lick him, but a policeman came, and he went
away."
"Does Dick know that he stole your fiddle?"
"Yes."
"Then he will be sure to punish him. It will save me the
trouble."
The walk was not long. Soon they were at Paul's door.
"I have brought company to dinner, mother," said Paul, entering
first.
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