A little before six Phil's new friend, whose name he ascertained
was Edwin Grover, washed his hands, and, putting on his coat,
said "Come along, Phil."
Phil, who had been sitting near the stove, prepared to accompany
him.
"We haven't got far to go," said Edwin, who was eighteen. "I am
glad of that, for the sooner I get to the supper table the
better."
After five minutes' walk they stopped at a comfortable two-story
house near the roadside.
"That's where I put up," said Edwin.
He opened the door and entered, followed by Phil, who felt a
little bashful, knowing that he was not expected.
"Have you got an extra plate, mother?" asked Edwin. "This is a
professor of the violin, who is going to help me make some music
this evening."
"He is welcome," said Mrs. Grover, cheerfully, "We can make room
for him. He is an Italian, I suppose. What is your name?"
"Filippo."
"I will call you Philip. I suppose that is the English name.
Will you lay down your violin and draw up to the fire?"
"I am not cold," said Phil.
"He is not cold, he is hungry, as Ollendorf says," said Edwin,
who had written a few French exercises according to Ollendorf's
system.
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