the doors of these places, or within,
if they should be invited to enter; but at six there is not much to be
done.

After a little reflection, Phil determined to go down to Fulton Ferry
and got on board the Brooklyn steamboat. He might get a chance to play
to the passengers, and some, no doubt, would give him something. At any
rate, the investment would be small, since for one fare, or two cents,
he might ride back and forward several times, as long as he did not step
off the boat. He, therefore, directed his steps toward the ferry, and
arrived just in time to go on board the boat.

The boat was very full. So large a number of the people in Brooklyn are
drawn to New York by business and pleasure, that the boats, particularly
in the morning from seven to nine, and in the afternoon, from five to
seven, go loaded down with foot passengers and carriages.

Phil entered the ladies' cabin. Though ostensibly confined to ladies'
use, it was largely occupied also by gentlemen who did not enjoy the
smoke which usually affects disagreeably the atmosphere of the cabin
appropriated to their own sex. Our young musician knew that to children
the hearts and purses of ladies are more likely to open than those of
gentlemen, and this guided him.

Entering, he found every seat taken. He waited till the boat had
started, and then, taking his position in the center of the rear
cabin, he began to play and sing, fixing at once the attention of the
passengers upon himself.

"That boy's a nuisance; he ought not to be allowed to play on the boat,"
muttered an old gentleman, looking up from the columns of the Evening
Post.

"Now, papa," said a young lady at his side, "why need you object to the
poor boy? I am sure he sings very nicely. I like to hear him."

"I don't."

"You know, papa, you have no taste for music. Why, you went to sleep at
the opera the other evening."

"I tried to," said her father, in whom musical taste had a very limited
development. "It was all nonsense to me."

"He is singing the Hymn of Garibaldi. What a sweet voice he has! Such a
handsome little fellow, too!"

"He has a dirty face, and his clothes are quite ragged."

"But he has beautiful eyes; see how brilliant they are. No wonder he is
dirty and ragged; it isn't his fault, poor boy. I have no doubt he has a
miserable home. I'm going to give him something."

"Just as you like, Florence; as I am not a romantic young damsel, I
shall not follow your example."