CHAPTER XI
THE BOYS RECEPTION
Phil and Giacomo entered the lodging-house, wholly unconscious of thethreatening storm, The padrone scowled at them as they entered but thatwas nothing unusual. Had he greeted them kindly, they would have hadreason to be surprised.
"Well," he said, harshly, "how much do you bring?"
The boys produced two dollars and a half which he pocketed.
"Is this all?" he asked.
"It was cold," said Phil, "and we could not get more."
The padrone listened with an ominous frown.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. "Do you want your supper?"
Phil was puzzled by his manner, for he expected to be deprived of hissupper on account of bringing less money than usual. Why should thepadrone ask him if he wanted his supper? Though he was not hungry, hethought it best to answer in the affirmative.
"What would you like?" asked the padrone.
Again Phil was puzzled, for the suppers supplied by the padrone nevervaried, always consisting of bread and cheese.
"Perhaps," continued the padrone, meeting no answer, "you would like tohave coffee and roast beef."
All was clear now. Phil understood that he had been seen going in or outof the restaurant, though he could not tell by whom. He knew well enoughwhat to expect, but a chivalrous feeling of friendship led him to try toshield his young companion, even at the risk of a more severe punishmentto be inflicted upon himself.
"It was my fault," he said, manfully. "Giacomo would not have gone inbut for me."
"Wicked, ungrateful boy!" exclaimed the padrone, wrathfully. "It was mymoney that you spent. You are a thief!"
Phil felt that this was a hard word, which he did not deserve. The moneywas earned by himself, though claimed by the padrone. But he did notventure to say this. It would have been revolutionary. He thought itprudent to be silent.
"Why do you say nothing?" exclaimed the padrone, stamping his foot. "Whydid you spend my money?"
"I was hungry."
"So you must live like a nobleman! Our supper is not good enough foryou. How much did you spend?"
"Thirty cents."
"For each?"
"No, signore, for both."
"Then you shall have each fifteen blows, one for each penny. I willteach you to be a thief. Pietro, the stick! Now, strip!"
"Padrone," said Phil, generously, "let me have all the blows. It was myfault; Giacomo only went because I asked him."
If the padrone had had a heart, this generous request would have touchedit; but he was not troubled in that way.
"He must be whipped, too," he said. "He should not have gone with you."
"He is sick, padrone," persisted Phil. "Excuse him till he is better."
"Not a word more," roared the padrone, irritated at his persistence."If he is sick, it is because he has eaten too much," he added, with asneer. "Pietro, my stick!"
The two boys began to strip mechanically, knowing that there was noappeal. Phil stood bare to the waist. The padrone seized the stick andbegan to belabor him. Phil's brown face showed by its contortions thepain he suffered, but he was too proud to cry out. When the punishmentwas finished his back was streaked with red, and looked maimed andbruised.
"Put on your shirt!" commanded the tyrant.
Phil drew it on over his bleeding back and resumed his place among hiscomrades.
"Now!" said the padrone, beckoning to Giacomo.
The little boy approached shivering, not so much with cold as with thefever that had already begun to prey upon him.
Phil turned pale and sick as he looked at the padrone preparing toinflict punishment. He would gladly have left the room, but he knew thatit would not be permitted.
The first blow descended heavily upon the shrinking form of the littlevictim. It was followed by a shriek of pain and terror.
"What are you howling at?" muttered the padrone, between his teeth. "Iwill whip you the harder."
Giacomo would have been less able to bear the cruel punishment than Philif he had been well, but being sick, it was all the more terrible tohim. The second blow likewise was followed by a shriek of anguish. Phillooked on with pale face, set teeth, and blazing eyes, as he saw thebarbarous punishment of his comrade. He felt that he hated the padronewith a fierce hatred. Had his strength been equal to the attempt, hewould have flung himself upon the padrone. As it was, he looked at hiscomrades, half wishing that they would combine with him against theirjoint oppressor. But there was no hope of that. Some congratulatedthemselves that they were not in Giacomo's place; others looked upon hispunishment as a matter of course. There was no dream of interference,save in the mind of Phil.
The punishment continued amid the groans and prayers for mercy of thelittle sufferer. But at the eighth stroke his pain and terror reacheda climax, and nature succumbed. He sank on the floor, fainting. Thepadrone thought at first it was a pretense, and was about to repeatthe strokes, when a look at the pallid, colorless face of the littlesufferer alarmed him. It did not excite his compassion, but kindledthe fear that the boy might be dying, in which case the police mightinterfere and give him trouble; therefore he desisted, but unwillingly.
"He is sick," said Phil, starting forward.
"He is no more sick than I am," scowled the padrone. "Pietro, somewater!"
Pietro brought a glass of water, which the padrone threw in the face ofthe fallen boy. The shock brought him partially to. He opened his eyes,and looked around vacantly.
"What is the matter with you?" demanded the padrone, harshly.
"Where am I?" asked Giacomo, bewildered. But, as he asked this question,his eyes met the dark look of his tyrant, and he clasped his hands interror.
"Do not beat me!" he pleaded. "I feel sick."
"He is only shamming," said Pietro, who was worthy to be the servant andnephew of such a master. But the padrone thought it would not be prudentto continue the punishment.
"Help him put on his clothes, Pietro," he said. "I will let you off thistime, little rascal, but take heed that you never again steal a singlecent of my money."
Giacomo was allowed to seek his uncomfortable bed. His back was so sorewith the beating he had received that he was compelled to lie on hisside. During the night the feverish symptoms increased, and beforemorning he was very sick. The padrone was forced to take some measuresfor his recovery, not from motives of humanity, but because Giacomo'sdeath would cut off a source of daily revenue, and this, in the eyes ofthe mercenary padrone, was an important consideration.
Phil went to bed in silence. Though he was suffering from the brutalblows he had received, the thought of the punishment and suffering ofGiacomo affected him more deeply than his own. As I have said, the twoboys came from the same town in southern Italy. They had known eachother almost from infancy, and something of a fraternal feeling hadgrown up between them. In Phil's case, since he was the stronger, it wasaccompanied by the feeling that he should be a protector to the youngerboy, who, on his side, looked up to Phil as stronger and wiser thanhimself. Though only a boy of twelve, what had happened led Phil tothink seriously of his position and prospects. He did not know for howlong his services had been sold to the padrone by his father, but hefelt sure that the letter of the contract would be little regarded aslong as his services were found profitable.
What hope, then, had he of better treatment in the future? There seemedno prospect except of continued oppression and long days of hardship,unless--and here the suggestion of Mr. Pomeroy occurred to him--unlesshe ran away. He had known of boys doing this before. Some had beenbrought back, and, of course, were punished severely for their temerity,but others had escaped, and had never returned. What had become of themPhil did not know, but he rightly concluded that they could not be anyworse off than in the service of the padrone. Thinking of all this, Philbegan to think it probable that he, too, would some day break his bondsand run away. He did not fix upon any time. He had not got as far asthis. But circumstances, as we shall find i
n our next chapter, hastenedhis determination, and this, though he knew it not, was the last nighthe would sleep in the house of the padrone.
Phil, the Fiddler Page 11