Philip was of fair height, for his age, with a bright, expressive face,his hair of a chestnut shade, and looking the very picture of boyishhealth. His very appearance made a pleasant impression upon thosepresent.
"He's a nice-looking boy," thought more than one, "but he looks tooyoung to know much about the violin."
But when Philip began to play, there was general surprise. In adancing-tune there was not much chance for the exhibition of talent, buthis delicate touch and evident perfect mastery of his instrument wereimmediately apparent. In comparison, the playing of Paul Beck seemedwooden and mechanical.
There was a murmur of approbation, and when Philip had finished hisfirst part of the program, he was saluted by hearty applause, which heacknowledged by a modest and graceful bow.
Paul Beck's face, as his young rival proceeded in his playing, was aninteresting study. He was very disagreeably surprised. He had made uphis mind that Philip could not play at all, or, at any rate, would proveto be a mere tyro and bungler, and he could hardly believe his ears whenhe heard the sounds which Philip evoked from his violin.
In spite of his self-conceit, he secretly acknowledged that Philip evennow was his superior, and in time would leave him so far behind thatthere could be no comparison between them.
It was not a pleasant discovery for a man who had prided himself formany years on his superiority as a musician. If it had been a man ofestablished fame it would have been different, but to be compelled toyield the palm to an unknown boy, was certainly mortifying.
When he heard the applause that followed Philip's performance, andremembered that none had been called forth by his own, he determinedthat he would not play again that evening. He did not like to risk thecomparison which he was sure would be made between himself and Philip.So, when Andrew Blake came up to him and asked him to play for the nextdance, he shook his head. "I don't feel well enough," he said "I thoughtI was stronger than I am."
"Do you want the boy to play all the rest of the evening?"
"Yes; he plays very fairly," said Beck, in a patronizing manner, whichimplied his own superiority.
"There can be no doubt about that," said Andrew Blake, with emphasis,for he understood Mr. Beck's meaning, and resented it as one of thewarmest admirers of the boy-musician whom he had engaged.
But Paul Beck would not for the world have revealed his real opinion ofPhilip's merits.
"Yes," he continued, "he plays better than I expected. I guess you canget along with him."
"How shall we arrange about the compensation, Mr. Beck?" asked Blake."We ought in that case to give him more than half."
"Oh, you can give him the whole," answered Beck carelessly. "If I feltwell enough to play, I would do my part, but I think it will be betterfor me to go home and go to bed."
His decision was communicated to Philip, who felt impelled by politenessto express his regrets to Mr. Beck.
"I am sorry you don't feel able to play, Mr. Beck," he said politely.
"Oh, it's of no consequence, as they've got some one to take my place,"returned Beck coldly.
"I should be glad to hear you play again," continued Philip.
Paul Beck nodded slightly, but he felt too much mortified to reciprocatePhilip's friendly advances. Half an hour later he left the hall.
The dancers by no means regretted the change of arrangement. Theyevidently preferred the young musician to his elderly rival. The onlyone to express regret was Miss Maria Snodgrass.
"I declare it's a shame Mr. Beck has given up," she said. "I wanted youto dance with me, Mr. Gray. I am sure if you can dance as well as youcan play, you would get along perfectly lovely. Now you've got to play,and can't dance at all."
"It isn't leap-year, Maria," said Jedidiah Burbank, in a jealous tone.
Miss Snodgrass turned upon him angrily:
"You needn't put in your oar, Jedidiah Burbank!" she said. "I guess Iknow what I'm about. If it was leap-year fifty times over, I wouldn'toffer myself to you!"
And the young lady tossed her head in a very decided manner.
"Now don't get mad, Maria!" implored Jedidiah, feeling that at theprompting of jealousy; he had put his foot in it. "I didn't meannothing."
"Then you'd better say nothing next time," retorted the young lady.
Meanwhile, Philip acknowledged the young lady's politeness by a smileand a bow, assuring her that if it had been possible, it would havegiven him great pleasure to dance with her.
"If Mr. Burbank will play for me," he said with a glance at the youngman, "I shall be glad to dance."
Miss Snodgrass burst out laughing.
"Jedidiah couldn't play well enough for an old cow to dance by," shesaid.
"There ain't any old cows here," said Jedidiah, vexed at beingridiculed.
"Well, there are some calves, anyway," retorted Maria, laughingheartily.
Poor Jedidiah! It is to be feared that he will have a hard time when hebecomes the husband of the fair Maria. She will undoubtedly be the headof the new matrimonial firm.
There was nothing further to mar the harmony of the evening. It hadbegun with indications of a storm, but the clouds had vanished, and whenMr. Beck left the hall, there was nothing left to disturb the enjoymentof those present.
The favorable opinions expressed when Philip commenced playing wererepeated again and again, as the evening slipped away.
"I tell you, he's a regular genius!" one enthusiastic admirer said tohis companion. "Paul Beck can't hold a candle to him."
"That's so. He's smart, and no mistake."
Poor Mr. Beck! It was fortunate he was unable to hear these comparisonsmade. He could not brook a rival near the throne, and had gone home inlow spirits, feeling that he could never again hold his head as high ashe had done.
When the dancing was over, there was a brief conference of the committeeof management, the subject of which was soon made known.
Andrew Blake approached Philip and said:
"Mr. Gray, some of us would like to hear you play something else, if youare not tired--not a dancing-tune."
"I shall be very happy to comply with your request," answered Philip.
He spoke sincerely, for he saw that all were pleased with him, and it isgratifying to be appreciated.
He paused a moment in thought, and then began to play the "Carnival ofVenice," with variations. It had been taught him by his father, and hehad played it so often that his execution was all that could be desired.The variations were of a showy and popular character, and very welladapted to impress an audience like that to which he was playing.
"Beautiful! Beautiful!" exclaimed the young ladies, while their partnerspronounced it "tip-top" and "first-rate," by which they probably meantvery much the same thing.
"Oh, Mr. Gray!" exclaimed Miss Snodgrass fervently. "You play like aseraphim!"
"Thank you!" said Philip, smiling. "I never heard a seraphim play on theviolin, but I am sure your remark is very complimentary."
"I wish you could play like that, Jedidiah," said Maria.
"I'll learn to play, if you want me to," said Mr. Burbank.
"Thank you! You're very obliging," said Maria; "but I won't trouble you.You haven't got a genius for it, like Mr. Gray."
The evening was over at length, and again Philip was made thehappy recipient of three dollars. His first week had certainly beenunexpectedly prosperous.
"This is better than staying in the Norton Poorhouse!" he said tohimself.
CHAPTER XXIV. LORENZO RICCABOCCA.
Philip's reputation as a musician was materially increased by his secondnight's performance. To adopt a military term, he had crossed swordswith the veteran fiddler, Paul Beck, and, in the opinion of all whoheard both, had far surpassed him.
This was said openly to Philip by more than one; but he was modest, andhad too much tact and good taste to openly agree with them. This modestyraised him higher in the opinion of his admirers.
He was invited by the Blakes to prolong his visit, but preferred toc
ontinue on his journey--though his plans were, necessarily, not clearlydefined.
Andrew Blake carried him five miles on his way, and from that point ourhero used the means of locomotion with which nature had supplied him.
Some six miles farther on there was a manufacturing town of considerablesize, named Wilkesville, and it occurred to him that this would be agood place at which to pass the night.
Something might turn up for him there. He hardly knew what, but the twounexpected strokes of luck which he had had thus far encouraged him tothink that a third might come to him.
Philip continued on his way--his small pack of clothing in one hand andhis violin under his arm. Being in no especial hurry--for it was onlythe middle of the forenoon--he bethought himself to sit down and rest atthe first convenient and inviting place.
He soon came to a large elm tree, which, with its spreading branches,offered a pleasant and grateful shade.
He threw himself down and lay back on the greensward, in pleasantcontemplation, when he heard a gentle cough--as of one who wished toattract attention. Looking up he observed close at hand, a tall man,dressed in black, with long hair, which fell over his shirt collar andshoulders.
He wore a broad collar and black satin necktie, and his hair was partedin the middle. His appearance was certainly peculiar, and excited ourhero's curiosity.
"My young friend," he said, "you have chosen a pleasant resting-placebeneath this umbrageous monarch of the grove." "Yes, sir," answeredPhilip, wondering whether the stranger was a poet.
"May I also recline beneath it?" asked the newcomer.
"Certainly, sir. It is large enough to shelter us both."
"Quite true; but I did not wish to intrude upon your meditations."
"My meditations are not of much account," answered Philip, laughing.
"I see you are modest. Am I right in supposing that yonder case containsa violin?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you are a musician?"
"A little of one," replied Philip.
"May I ask--excuse my curiosity--if you play professionally?"
"Perhaps he may help me to an engagement," thought our hero, and he saidreadily, "I do."
"Indeed!" said the stranger, appearing pleased. "What style of music doyou play?"
"For each of the last two evenings I have played for dancing-parties."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"You do not confine yourself to dancing-music?"
"Oh, no! I prefer other kinds; but dancing-tunes seem most in demand,and I have my living to make." The stranger seemed still more gratified.
"I am delighted to have met you, Mr.---- Ahem!" he paused, and lookedinquiringly at Philip.
"Gray."
"Mr. Gray, I believe Providence has brought us together. I see you aresurprised."
Philip certainly did look puzzled, as he well might.
"I must explain myself more clearly. I am Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca,the famous elocutionist and dramatic reader."
Philip bowed.
"Doubtless you have heard of me?" said the professor inquiringly.
"I have never lived in large places," answered Philip, in someembarrassment, "or no doubt your name would be familiar to me."
"To be sure, that must make a difference. For years," said theprofessor, "I have given dramatic readings to crowded houses, andeverywhere my merits have been conceded by the educated and refined."
Philip could not help wondering how it happened in that case that theprofessor should look so seedy. A genius appreciated so highly ought tohave brought in more gold and silver.
Perhaps Professor Riccabocca understood Philip's expressive look, for hewent to to say:
"The public has repaid me richly for the exercise of my talent; but,alas, my young friend, I must confess that I have no head for business.I invested my savings unwisely, and ascertained a month since that I hadlost all."
"That was a great pity!" said Philip sympathizingly.
"It was, indeed! It quite unmanned me!" said the professor, wiping awaya tear. "I felt that all ambition was quite gone, and I was mad andsick. Indeed, only a week since I rose from a sick-bed. But Lorenzo ishimself again!" he exclaimed, striking his breast energetically. "I willnot succumb to Fate. I will again court the favor of the public, andthis time I will take care of the ducats my admirers bestow upon me."
"I should think that was a good plan," said Philip.
"I will begin at once. Nearby is a town devoted to the mammon of trade,yet among its busy thousands there must be many that will appreciate thegenius of Lorenzo Riccabocca."
"I hope so," answered Philip politely.
He could not help thinking that the professor was rather self-conceited,and he hardly thought it in good taste for him to refer so boastfully tohis genius.
"I wish you, Mr. Gray, to assist me in my project," continued theprofessor.
"How can I do so, sir?" inquired Philip.
"Let me tell you. I propose that we enter into a professionalpartnership, that we give an entertainment partly musical, partlydramatic. I will draw up a program, including some of my most humorousrecitations and impersonations, while interspersed among them will bemusical selections contributed by yourself. Do you comprehend?"
"Yes," answered Philip, nodding.
"And what do you think of it?"
"I think well of it," replied the boy-musician.
He did think well of it. It might not draw a large audience, this mixedentertainment, but it would surely pay something; and it would interferewith no plans of his own, for, in truth, he had none.
"Then you will cooperate with me?" said the professor.
"Yes, professor."
"Give me your hand!" exclaimed Riccabocca dramatically. "Mr. Gray, itis a perfect bonanza of an idea. I may tell you, in confidence, I wasalways a genius for ideas. Might I ask a favor of you?"
"Certainly, sir."
"Give me a touch of your quality. Let me hear you play."
Philip drew his violin from its case and played for his new professionalpartner "The Carnival of Venice," with variations--the same which hadbeen received with so much favor the evening previous.
Professor Riccabocca listened attentively, and was evidently agreeablysurprised. He was not a musician, but he saw that Philip was a muchbetter player than he had anticipated, and this, of course, was likelyto improve their chances of pecuniary success.
"You are a splendid performer," he said enthusiastically. "Youshall come out under my auspices and win fame. I predict for you aprofessional triumph."
"Thank you," said Philip, gratified by this tribute from a man ofworldly experience. "I hope you will prove a true prophet."
"And now, Mr. Gray, let us proceed on our way. We must get lodgings inWilkesville, and make arrangements for our entertainment. I feel newcourage, now that I have obtained so able a partner. Wilkesville littleknows what is in store for her. We shall go, see, and conquer!"
An hour later Philip and his new partner entered Wilkesville.
CHAPTER XXV. A CHANGE OF NAME.
Wilkesville was an inland city, of from fifteen to twenty thousandinhabitants.
As Philip and the professor passed along the principal street, they sawvarious stores of different kinds, with here and there a large,high, plain-looking structure, which they were told was used for themanufacture of shoes.
"Wilkesville will give us a large audience," he said, in a tone ofsatisfaction.
"I hope so," said our hero.
"Hope so? I know so!" said the professor confidently. "The town is fullof young men, employed in shoe-making. They are fond of amusement,and they will gladly seize an opportunity of patronizing a first-classentertainment like ours."
The professor's reasoning seemed good, but logic sometimes fails, andPhilip was not quite so sanguine. He said nothing, however, to dampenthe ardor of his partner.
"Let me see," said the professor, pausing, "yonder stands theWilkesville Hotel. We had better pu
t up there."
It was a brick structure of considerable size, and seemed to have somepretensions to fashion.
"Do you know how much they charge?" asked Philip prudently.
"No; I neither know nor care," answered Professor Riccabocca loftily.
"But," said Philip, "I haven't much money."
"Nor I," admitted Riccabocca. "But it is absolutely necessary for us tostop at a first-class place. We must not let the citizens suppose thatwe are tramps or vagabonds. They will judge us by our surroundings."
"There is something in that," said Philip. "But suppose we don'tsucceed!"
"Succeed? We must succeed!" said the professor, striking an attitude."In the vocabulary of youth, there's no such word as 'fail'! Away withtimid caution! Our watchword be success!"
"Of course, you have much more experience than I," said Philip.
"Certainly I have! We must keep up appearances. Be guided by me, and allwill come right."
Philip reflected that they could not very well make less than theirexpenses, and accordingly he acceded to the professor's plans. Theyentered the hotel, and Professor Riccabocca, assuming a dignified,important step, walked up to the office. "Sir," said he, to the clerk,"my companion and myself would like an apartment, one eligibly located,and of ample size."
"You can be accommodated, sir," answered the young man politely. "Willyou enter your names?"
Opening the hotel register, the elocutionist, with various flourishes,entered, this name: "Professor Lorenzo Riccabocca, Elocutionist andDramatic Reader."