"I have got you at last, scelerato," said Pietro, roughly,
grasping Phil by the shoulder with a hostile glance.
The doctor instantly seized him by the collar, and hurled him
back.
"What do you mean by assaulting my son?" he demanded, coolly.
Pietro was rather astonished at this unexpected attack.
"He is my brother," he said. "He must go back with me."
"He is not your brother. If you touch him again, I will hand you
to the police."
"He ran away from my uncle," said Pietro.
"Your uncle should have treated him better."
"He stole a fiddle," said Pietro, doggedly.
"He had paid for it over and over again," said the doctor.
"Phil, come along. We have no further business with this young
man."
They walked on, but Pietro followed at a little distance. Seeing
this, Dr. Drayton turned back.
"Young man," he said, "do you see that policeman across the
street?"
"Si, signore," answered Pietro.
"Then I advise you to go in a different direction, or I shall
request him to follow you."
Pietro's sallow face was pale with rage. He felt angry enough to
tear Phil to pieces, but his rage was unavailing. He had a
wholesome fear of the police, and the doctor's threat was
effectual.
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