rt, Phil, who was naturally courageous, recovered his
self-possession. Not so with Giacomo, who was the more afraid because he
knew he had gained but little money thus far.

"We are not wasting our time, padrone," said Phil, looking up
fearlessly.

"We will see about that. How long have you been together?"

"Only five minutes."

"How much money have you, Filippo?"

"A dollar and twenty cents."

"Good; you have done well. And how is it with you, Giacomo?"

"I have forty cents."

"Then you have been idle," said the padrone, frowning.

"No, signore," said the boy, trembling. "I have played, but they did not
give me much money."

"It is not his fault," said Phil, coming boldly to the defense of his
friend.

"Attend to your own affairs, little scrape-grace," said the padrone,
roughly. "He might have got as much as you."

"No, padrone; I was lucky. A kind lady gave me fifty cents."

"That is not my affair. I don't care where you get the money. But if you
don't bring home all I expect, you shall feel the stick."

These last words were addressed to Giacomo, who understood their import
only too well. In the miserable lodging where he herded with thirty or
forty others scarcely a night passed without the brutal punishment of
one or more unfortunate boys, who had been unsuccessful in bringing home
enough to satisfy the rapacity of the padrone. But of this an account
will hereafter be given.

"Now, go to work, both of you," said the padrone, harshly.

The two boys separated. Giacomo went uptown, while Phil kept on his way
toward the Astor House. The padrone made his way to the nearest liquor
shop, where he invested a portion of the money wrung from the hard
earnings of his young apprentices.

Toward the close of the afternoon Phil found himself in front of the
Astor House. He had played several times, but was not fortunate in
finding liberal auditors. He had secured but ten cents during this time,
and it seemed doubtful whether he would reach the sum he wanted. He
crossed over to the City Hall Park, and, feeling tired, sat down on one
of the benches. Two bootblacks were already seated upon it.

"Play us a tune, Johnny," said one.

"Will you give me pennies?" asked Phil doubtfully, for he did not care,
with such a severe taskmaster, to work for nothing.

"Yes, we'll give you pennies."

Upon this, Phil struck up a tune.

"Where's your monkey?" asked one of the boys.

"I have no monkey."

"If you want a