"No, Phil," said his friend, "you may need that money. Keep it,
and pay me when you have more."
"But I shall be away."
"You will come to the city some day. When you do you will know
where to find me. Now go and play a tune to Jimmy. He is
waiting for you. If you remain in the streets, your old enemy,
Tim Rafferty, may want to borrow your fiddle again."
"You are very kind to me, Paolo," said Phil, raising his dark
eyes with a sudden impulse of gratitude.
"It's nothing, Phil," said Paul, modestly; "you would do the same
for me if I needed it."
"Yes, I would," said Phil; "but I am poor, and I cannot help
you."
"You won't be poor always, Phil," said Paul, cheerfully, "nor I
either, I hope. I mean to be a merchant some time on a bigger
scale than now. As for you, you will be a great player, and give
concerts at the Academy of Music."
Phil laughed, but still seemed pleased at the prophecy.
"Well, Phil, I must bid you good-by for a little while, or my
clerks will be cheating me. I will see you at supper."
"Addio, Paolo," said Phil.
"Addio," said Paul, laughing. "Wouldn't I make a good Italian?"
Paul returned to his stand, and Phil took the direction of Mrs.
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