CHAPTER XXIV
THE DEATH OF GIACOMO
Great was the astonishment at the Italian lodging-house that night whenneither the padrone nor Pietro made his appearance. Great was the joy,too, for the nightly punishments were also necessarily omitted, and theboys had no one to pay their money to. There was another circumstancenot so agreeable. All the provisions were locked up, and there was nosupper for the hungry children. Finally, at half-past eleven, threeboys, bolder than the rest, went out, and at last succeeded in obtainingsome bread and crackers at an oyster saloon, in sufficient quantities tosupply all their comrades. After eating heartily they went to bed, andfor one night the establishment ran itself much more satisfactorily tothe boys than if the padrone had been present.
The next morning the boys went out as usual, having again bought theirbreakfast and dispersed themselves about the city and vicinity, heartilyhoping that this state of things might continue. But it was too goodto last. When they returned at evening they found their old enemy incommand. He looked more ill-tempered and sour than ever, but gave noexplanation of his and Pietro's absence, except to say that he had beenout of the city on business. He called for the boys' earnings of theday previous, but to their surprise made no inquiries about how they hadsupplied themselves with supper or breakfast. He felt that his influenceover the boys, and the terror which he delighted to inspire in them,would be lessened if they should learn that he had been arrested andpunished. The boys were accustomed to look upon him as possessed ofabsolute power over them, and almost regarded him as above law.
Pietro, too, was silent, partly for the same reasons which influencedthe padrone, partly because he was afraid of offending his uncle.
Meanwhile poor Giacomo remained sick. If he had been as robust andstrong as Phil, he would have recovered, but he was naturally delicate,and exposure and insufficient food had done their work only too well.
Four days afterward (to advance the story a little) one of the boys cameto the padrone in the morning, saying: "Signore padrone, Giacomo is muchworse. I think he is going to die."
"Nonsense!" said the padrone, angrily. "He is only pretending to besick, so that he need not work. I have lost enough by him already."
Nevertheless he went to the little boy's bedside.
Giacomo was breathing faintly. His face was painfully thin, his eyespreternaturally bright. He spoke faintly, but his mind seemed to bewandering.
"Where is Filippo?" he said. "I want to see Filippo."
In this wish the padrone heartily concurred. He, too, would have beenglad to see Filippo, but the pleasure would not have been mutual.
"Why do you want to see Filippo?" he demanded, in his customary harshtone.
Giacomo heard and answered, though unconscious who spoke to him.
"I want to kiss him before I die," he said.
"What makes you think you are going to die?" said the tyrant, struck bythe boy's appearance.
"I am so weak," murmured Giacomo. "Stoop down, Filippo. I want to tellyou something in your ear."
Moved by curiosity rather than humanity, the padrone stooped over, andGiacomo whispered:
"When you go back to Italy, dear Filippo, go and tell my mother how Idied. Tell her not to let my father sell my little brother to a padrone,or he may die far away, as I am dying. Promise me, Filippo."
There was no answer. The padrone did indeed feel a slight emotion ofpity, but it was, unhappily, transient. Giacomo did not observe that thequestion was not answered.
"Kiss me, Filippo," said the dying boy.
One of the boys who stood nearby, with tears in his eyes, bent over andkissed him.
Giacomo smiled. He thought it was Filippo. With that smile on his face,he gave one quick gasp and died--a victim of the padrone's tyranny andhis father's cupidity.(1)
(1) It is the testimony of an eminent Neapolitan physician (I quote from Signor Casali, editor of L'Eco d'Italia) that of one hundred Italian children who are sold by their parents into this white slavery, but twenty ever return home; thirty grow up and adopt various occupations abroad, and fifty succumb to maladies produced by privation and exposure.
Death came to Giacomo as a friend. No longer could he be forced out intothe streets to suffer cold and fatigue, and at night inhuman treatmentand abuse. His slavery was at an end.
We go back now to Phil. Though he and his friends had again gained avictory over Pietro and the padrone, he thought it would not be prudentto remain in Newark any longer. He knew the revengeful spirit of histyrants, and dreaded the chance of again falling into their hands. Hemust, of course, be exposed to the risk of capture while plying hisvocation in the public streets. Therefore he resisted the invitation ofhis warm-hearted protectors to make his home with them, and decided towander farther away from New York.
The next day, therefore, he went to the railway station and bought aticket for a place ten miles further on. This he decided would be farenough to be safe.
Getting out of the train, he found himself in a village of moderatesize. Phil looked around him with interest. He had the fondness, naturalto his age, for seeing new places. He soon came to a schoolhouse. It wasonly a quarter of nine, and some of the boys were playing outside. Philleaned against a tree and looked on.
Though he was at an age when boys enjoy play better than work or study,he had no opportunity to join in their games.
One of the boys, observing him, came up and said frankly, "Do you wantto play with us?"
"Yes," said Phil, brightening up, "I should like to."
"Come on, then."
Phil looked at his fiddle and hesitated.
"Oh, I'll take care of your fiddle for you. Here, this tree is hollow;just put it inside, and nobody will touch it."
Phil needed no second invitation. Sure of the safety of his fiddle,which was all-important to him since it procured for him his livelihood,he joined in the game with zest. It was so simple that he easilyunderstood it. His laugh was as loud and merry as any of the rest, andhis face glowed with enjoyment.
It does not take long for boys to become acquainted. In the brieftime before the teacher's arrival, Phil became on good terms with theschoolboys, and the one who had first invited him to join them said:"Come into school with us. You shall sit in my seat."
"Will he let me?" asked Phil, pointing to the teacher.
"To be sure he will. Come along."
Phil took his fiddle from its hiding-place in the interior of the tree,and walked beside his companion into the schoolroom.
It was the first time he had ever been in a schoolroom before, and helooked about him with curiosity at the desks, and the maps hangingon the walls. The blackboards, too, he regarded with surprise, notunderstanding their use.
After the opening exercises were concluded, the teacher, whose attentionhad been directed to the newcomer, walked up to the desk where hewas seated. Phil was a little alarmed, for, associating him with hisrecollections of the padrone, he did not know but that he would bepunished for his temerity in entering without the teacher's invitation.
But he was soon reassured by the pleasant tone in which he wasaddressed.
"What is your name, my young friend?"
"Filippo."
"You are an Italian, I suppose."
"Si, signore."
"Does that mean 'Yes, sir'?"
"Yes, sir," answered Phil, remembering to speak English.
"Is that your violin?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where do you live?"
Phil hesitated.
"I am traveling," he said at last.
"You are young to travel alone. How long have you been in this country?"
"A year."
"And have you been traveling about all that time?"
"No, signore; I have lived in New York."
"I suppose you have not gone to school?"
"No, signore."
"Well, I am glad to see you here; I shall be glad to have you stay andlisten to our exer
cises."
The teacher walked back to his desk, and the lessons began. Phillistened with curiosity and attention. For the first time in his lifehe felt ashamed of his own ignorance, and wished he, too, might havea chance to learn, as the children around him were doing. But they hadhomes and parents to supply their wants, while he must work for hislivelihood.
After a time, recess came. Then the boys gathered around, and asked Philto play them a tune.
"Will he let me?" asked the young fiddler, again referring to theteacher.
The latter, being applied to, readily consented, and expressed his ownwish to hear Phil. So the young minstrel played and sang several tunesto the group of children who gathered around him. Time passed rapidly,and the recess was over before the children anticipated it.
"I am sorry to disturb your enjoyment," said the teacher; "but dutybefore pleasure, you know. I will only suggest that, as our young friendhere depends on his violin for support, we ought to collect a littlemoney for him. James Reynolds, suppose you pass around your hat forcontributions. Let me suggest that you come to me first."
The united offerings, though small individually, amounted to a dollar,which Phil pocketed with much satisfaction. He did not remain afterrecess, but resumed his wanderings, and about noon entered a grocerystore, where he made a hearty lunch. Thus far good fortune attended him,but the time was coming, and that before long, when life would wear aless sunny aspect.