Finally a bright idea came to the squire.
"Bring me out his fiddle," he said to Frank. "I'm his guardian, and Iwill take care of it for him."
"He carried it away with him," said Frank. The squire's lower jaw fell.He was defeated at all points. "I guess we can't do nothing, under thecircumstances, squire," said Joe Tucker, scratching his head.
"I shall have to reflect upon it," said Squire Pope, in a crestfallentone.
"That's as good as a circus," thought Frank, as his roguish glancefollowed the two baffled conspirators as they rode out of the yard."It's a pity Phil was not here to enjoy it."
At the end of the second day, Philip was some forty miles distant fromNorton. He had not walked all the way, but had got a lift for a fewmiles from a tin-peddler, with whom he had a social chat.
It cannot be said that he was depressed, or that he regretted havingleft Norton, but he certainly did feel uncomfortable, and his discomfortsprang from a very homely cause.
To tell the plain truth, he was hungry. He had not had anything to eatfor six hours except an apple, which he had picked up by the roadside,and during those six hours he had walked not far from fifteen miles.
"I believe I never was so hungry before," thought Philip. "The questionis, where is my supper to come from?"
Although he knew pretty well the state of his finances, he began tosearch his pockets to see if he could not somewhere find a stray dime,or, better still, a quarter, with which to purchase the meal of which hestood so much in need. But his search was unproductive, or, rather, itonly resulted in the discovery of a battered cent.
"So that penny constitutes my whole fortune," thought Philip.
There were two houses in sight, one on each side of the road.
Probably they would have given Philip a supper at either, but our hero'shonest pride revolted at the idea of begging for a meal, much ashe stood in need of it. He might as well be a pauper, as he justlyreflected. So he pushed on.
Evidently he was drawing near a village, for houses began to appear atnearer intervals.
"Hello, my boy! Where are you traveling!" asked a hearty voice.
Philip turned round, and his glance rested on a stout young farmer,whose face, though very much sunburned, was pleasant and good-natured.
"I don't know," answered Philip.
"Don't know?" was repeated in surprise.
"I am in search of work."
"Oh, that's it! Are you a musician?" asked the young man, looking at theviolin.
"Yes; a little of one."
"Are you looking for a job at fiddling?" asked the young man.
"Yes, if I can find one," answered Philip, smiling.
"Can you play dancing-music?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess I can get you a job for this evening."
"I wish you could," said Philip hopefully, catching at a way out of histroubles.
"You see, there's to be a little dance in School-house Hall to-night,"said the farmer; "or there was to be one, but the fiddler's took sick,and we was afraid we'd have to give it up. Now, if you'll take hisplace, we can have it, after all."
"I'll do it," said Philip promptly.
"What'll you charge?"
"How much was the other one going to charge?"
"Five dollars. You see, he would have to come six miles."
"I'll come for three dollars and my supper and lodging," said Philip.
"All right! You shall have supper and lodging at our house. There it is,down that lane. Come right along, for supper must be on the table. Aftersupper I'll go and tell the committee I've engaged you."
Philip's spirits rose. Help had come from an unexpected quarter. He feltthat a new career was opening before him.
CHAPTER XIX. NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
On his way to the farmhouse, Philip ascertained that his companion'sname was Abner Webb, and that he and his brother Jonas carried on a farmof about a hundred acres. Abner appeared to be about twenty-five yearsold.
"You seem pretty young to be a fiddler," said the young man, surveyingPhilip with a glance of curiosity.
"I am almost sixteen."
"I am twenty-five, and I can't play at all."
"It isn't all in the age," returned our hero. "Did you ever try tolearn?"
"Yes, I took one or two lessons, but I had to give it up for a bad job.I couldn't get into it somehow."
"You didn't try very long," said Philip, smiling.
"I reckon I'd never do much at it. How long have you been a fiddler?"
"I've been playing three or four years."
"Sho! You don't say so! Do you like it?"
"Yes; very much."
"Well, I'm glad you happened along. It would have been a pity to haveour dance spoiled."
By this time they had reached the farmhouse, and Abner went in, followedby our hero.
A young woman, his brother's wife, looked at Philip in some surprise.
"You see, I've got a fiddler, after all," said Abner gleefully. "Wewon't have to put off the dance."
As he spoke, his brother Jonas came into the room, and the explanationwas repeated.
"That's good," said Jonas heartily. "You'd better go down to the storeafter supper, Abner, and tell the boys, for they've just heard that PaulBeck can't come."
"You just save me some supper, and I'll go now. The boy'll stay with usto-night. That's the bargain I made with him."
"He's heartily welcome," said Jonas Webb, a pleasant-faced man, withsandy complexion, who was probably from two to three years older thanhis brother. "You've happened along just at the right time."
"I am glad of it," said Philip; and there is no doubt he was sincere,for we know how much he stood in need of employment, though he naturallydid not care to let his new friends know of his destitution.
"My brother didn't tell me your name," said Jonas.
"My name is Philip Gray," answered our hero.
"Do you go round playing for dances?" inquired Jonas.
"I have only just begun."
Philip didn't think it necessary to say that the idea of making money inthis way had never occurred to him till this very day.
"Sit right up to supper, Jonas, and you, too, Mr. Gray," said Mrs. Webb.
Philip was by no means loath, for the dishes which he saw on the tablehad had the effect of stimulating his appetite, already sharpened by hislong walk and long fast.
Philip, as the guest, was first helped to a bountiful supply of coldmeat, a hot biscuit, and some golden butter, not to mention two kindsof preserves, for the Webbs always lived well. He was not slow in doingjustice to the good supper spread before him. He was almost afraid toeat as much as he wanted, lest his appetite should attract attention,and, therefore, was pleased to see that Jonas quite kept pace with him.
Indeed, when he had already eaten as much as he dared, Mrs. Webb said,hospitably:
"I am afraid, Mr. Gray, you won't make out a supper."
"I don't think there is any danger of that," said Philip, smiling. "Ihave enjoyed my supper very much."
The young woman looked gratified by this tribute to her cooking, andjust then Abner came in.
"Did you see the boys, Abner?" asked Jonas.
"Yes, I saw them all. They were awfully glad we could have the dance,after all. You see, we've been lookin' forward to it, and didn't liketo be disappointed. And now I must hurry down my supper, for I've got toslick up and go for Mary Ann Temple. Are you goin', Lucy?"
"Of course she is," answered Jonas. "I don't have so far to go for mygirl as you do," he added slyly.
"You used to go farther once, Jonas--six miles, where I have only to gotwo."
When supper was over, Philip inquired:
"How early will the dance commence?"
"About eight. We keep early hours in the country, and we like to get ourmoney's worth."
"If you have no objection, I will go out to the barn and try my violin alittle to see if it is in good tune."
"Try it in the ne
xt room," said the farmer's wife.
"Yes, do!" said her husband. "We'd like to hear you."
He was a little afraid, judging from Philip's youth, that he could notplay very well, and this would give him an opportunity of deciding howcompetent the boy was to take the place of Paul Beck, of Pomfret, whohad quite a reputation in the towns around.
Philip went into the next room and began to prepare himself for hisevening's task. Though lus training had by no means been confined todancing-tunes, he was quite proficient in that department, having morethan once been called upon in Norton to officiate in a similar capacity.
When Jonas had listened for five minutes to Philip, he turned to Abnerwith a satisfied look.
"He understands his business," he said, nodding with emphasis. "He ain'tno new beginner."
"I think he beats Paul Beck," said Abner, delighted to find his choiceapproved.
"I don't know but he does. I feel as if I wanted to start off now."
"I don't see how he does it," said Abner, with a puzzled look. "I nevercould do anything at it, though I'm almost twice as old."
He passed into the room where Philip was practising.
"You're a tip-top player," said he, to Philip admiringly. "Why, you beatPaul Beck."
"Is he the one you expected to have?"
"Yes. Paul's got a big name for fiddlin'."
"I am glad you like my playing," said Philip, who was naturally pleasedto find that he was likely to give satisfaction in his new business.
"The boys will be pleased, I can tell you."
"I will do all I can to give them satisfaction," said Philip modestly.
"Oh, you will! there's no doubt about that. How much did you pay foryour fiddle?"
"I believe it cost twenty-five dollars. My father gave it to me."
"Sho! I didn't think fiddles cost so much."
"Some cost a great deal more."
"Seems a good deal to lay out, but you'll get your money back, if youcan get enough to do."
"I hope so."
"Well, you must excuse me now. I've got to slick up, and go after MaryAnn Temple. She'd have been awfully disappointed if we'd had to give itup."
"Is she fond of dancing?"
"You'd better believe she is. Why, that girl could dance for four hoursstiddy--without wiltin'!"
"How late do you keep it up?"
"Till eleven or twelve. You won't be sleepy, will you?"
"If I am, I will get up later to-morrow morning."
"That's all right. You can get up jest as late as you like. Lucy willsave you some breakfast. We don't allow no one to go hungry here. But Imust be off. You will go to the hall along with Jonas and Lucy.They'll introduce you round and see that you are taken care of." Philipcongratulated himself on being so well provided for, at least for onenight. The future was uncertain, but with the money which he was toreceive for his services, he would be able to get along for two orthree days, and he might, perhaps, if successful, obtain another similarengagement.
He had a new reason for being thankful that Squire Pope had notsucceeded in depriving him of his violin, for this was likely to prove abreadwinner.
He continued to practice till it was time to go over to the hall.
CHAPTER XX. A LIVELY EVENING.
Schoolhouse Hall, as may be inferred, was a large hall, occupyingthe second story of the Center Schoolhouse, and though not originallyintended for dancing-parties, answered very well for that purpose.
The hall was tolerably well filled when Philip entered in company withJonas Webb and his wife.
Philip had effaced, as well as he could, the stains of travel, hadarrayed himself in a clean shirt and collar, brushed his hair neatly,and, being naturally a very good-looking boy, appeared to very goodadvantage, though he certainly did look young.
As he walked through the hall, with his violin under his arm, heattracted the attention of all, it having been already made known thatin place of the veteran Paul Beck--a man of fifty or more--an unknownboy would furnish the music for the evening.
Philip could not avoid hearing some of the remarks which his appearanceexcited. "What! that little runt play the fiddle?" said one countrifiedyoung man, in a short-waisted blue coat, and tow-colored hair, plastereddown on either side of his head with tallow. "I don't believe he canplay any more than I can."
"I hope he can," retained his partner--a plump, red-cheeked, youngfarmer's daughter. "He's very good-looking, anyhow."
"He isn't anything to brag of," said her partner jealously.
"Oh, how can you say so, Jedidiah. I See what beautiful black hair andeyes he's got, and such a lovely color on his cheeks!"
Now, Jedidiah, in appearance, was just the reverse of Philip. His hair,as already stated, was tow-color, his face was tanned, and the colorrather resembled brick-dust than the deep red of our hero's cheeks.
His partner was a rustic flirt, and he was disposed to be jealous, notbeing certain how far she favored him. He, therefore, took offense athis partner's admiration of the young fiddler.
"He looks very common to me," said Jedidiah pettishly. "You've got astrange taste, Maria."
"Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven't," retorted Maria, tossing herhead.
"Perhaps you're in love with him?" continued Jedidiah, in a tone meantto be sarcastic.
"I should be if he was a little older," said the young lady, ratherenjoying her lover's displeasure.
"I don't believe he can play at all," growled Jedidiah. "He's fooledAbner Webb, like as not. It's a pity we couldn't have Paul Beck."
"Very likely he can play better than Paul Beck," said Maria--not becauseshe thought so, but because she knew it would tease her partner.
"Don't be a fool, Maria," said Jedidiah, scarcely conscious of theimpoliteness of his speech.
The young lady, however, resented it at once.
"I am sure you are very polite, Mr. Jedidiah Burbank--so polite that Ithink you had better find another partner!"
"Excuse me, Maria," said Jedidiah hastily, alarmed at the prospect ofbeing left without a partner. "Of course, I didn't mean anything."
"If you didn't mean it, what made you say it?" retorted Maria, tossingher head. "I ain't used to being called a fool. I never knew a gentlemanto make such a remark to a lady. I think you'd better find some otherpartner."
"I take it all back," said Jedidiah, in alarm. "I was only in fun."
"I don't like that kind of fun," said Maria, in a tone of dignifiedcoldness.
"Then I won't joke you again. I guess he can play well enough, if Abnersays so."
Miss Maria Snodgrass allowed herself to be propitiated, more especiallyas she herself might have been left without a partner, had she adheredto her determination and sent Jedidiah adrift.
He took his place in a quadrille, not exactly wishing Philip to fail,but rather hoping that he would prove a poor performer, in order that hemight have a little triumph over Maria, who had the bad taste to preferthe young musician's appearance to his.
Meanwhile Philip, following Jonas Webb across the room, had beenintroduced to Frank Ingalls, who acted as manager.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Gray," said Ingalls. "I hope we sha'n't makeyou work too hard. We are very fond of dancing here."
"I don't get tired very easily," answered Philip. "I hope you will besatisfied with my playing."
"No fear of that, Mr. Ingalls, I've heerd him play at home, and I tellyou he can do it."
"Thank you, Mr. Webb," said Philip, bowing his acknowledgment of thecompliment.
"I guess we may as well commence, Mr. Gray," said Mr. Ingalls. "Theboys seem to be getting impatient. Here's the order of dances for theevening."
"Very well, Mr. Ingalls."
The manager raised his voice, and said, "Gentlemen and ladies, youalready know that Beck is sick, and cannot be with us this evening, ashe engaged to do. In his place we have engaged a young musician, who hasalready gained a great reputation in his profession--"
Philip was rathe
r surprised to hear this, but it was not for him togainsay it.
"Let me introduce to you Mr. Philip Gray."
Philip bowed and smiled, and, putting his violin in position,immediately commenced a lively air.
In less than five minutes the manager felt perfectly at ease concerningthe young musician. It was clear that Philip understood his business.Philip himself entered into the spirit of his performance. His cheekflushed, his eyes sparkled, and he almost outdid himself.
When the first dance was concluded, there was a murmur of approvalthroughout the ballroom. The dancers were both surprised and pleased.
"He's a smart boy!" said more than one. "He plays as well as Paul Beck,and Paul's been play-in' for more'n twenty years."
"As well? I never heard Paul Beck play as well as that," said another.
Among those who were most pleased was Miss Maria Snodgrass.
"What do you think now, Mr. Burbank?" she said, addressing her partner."Do you think the boy can play now?"
"Yes, he can play most as well as Paul Beck," admitted Jedidiah.
"Most as well? Paul Beck can't begin to play as well as him," returnedMaria, who was not educated, and occasionally made slips in grammar.