The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way by Jr. Horatio Alger (i have read the book TXT) 📖

Philip's reputation as a musician was materially increased by his second night's performance. To adopt a military term, he had crossed swords with the veteran fiddler, Paul Beck, and, in the opinion of all who heard both, had far surpassed him.

This was said openly to Philip by more than one; but he was modest, and had too much tact and good taste to openly agree with them. This modesty raised him higher in the opinion of his admirers.

He was invited by the Blakes to prolong his visit, but preferred to continue on his journey—though his plans were, necessarily, not clearly defined.

Andrew Blake carried him five miles on his way, and from that point our hero used the means of locomotion with which nature had supplied him.

Some six miles farther on there was a manufacturing town of considerable size, named Wilkesville, and it occurred to him that this would be a good place at which to pass the night.

Something might turn up for him there. He hardly knew what, but the two unexpected strokes of luck which he had had thus far encouraged him to think that a third might come to him.

Philip continued on his way—his small pack of clothing in one hand and his violin under his arm. Being in no especial hurry—for it was only the middle of the forenoon—he bethought himself to sit down and rest at the 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 pleasant contemplation, when he heard a gentle cough—as of one who wished to attract attention. Looking up he observed close at hand, a tall man, dressed in black, with long hair, which fell over his shirt collar and shoulders.

He wore a broad collar and black satin necktie, and his hair was parted in the middle. His appearance was certainly peculiar, and excited our hero's curiosity.

“My young friend,” he said, “you have chosen a pleasant resting-place beneath this umbrageous monarch of the grove.” “Yes, sir,” answered Philip, 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 contains a 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 said readily, “I do.”

“Indeed!” said the stranger, appearing pleased. “What style of music do you 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 looked inquiringly at Philip.

“Gray.”

“Mr. Gray, I believe Providence has brought us together. I see you are surprised.”

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 some embarrassment, “or no doubt your name would be familiar to me.”

“To be sure, that must make a difference. For years,” said the professor, “I have given dramatic readings to crowded houses, and everywhere my merits have been conceded by the educated and refined.”

Philip could not help wondering how it happened in that case that the professor should look so seedy. A genius appreciated so highly ought to have brought in more gold and silver.

Perhaps Professor Riccabocca understood Philip's expressive look, for he went 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 had lost all.”

“That was a great pity!” said Philip sympathizingly.

“It was, indeed! It quite unmanned me!” said the professor, wiping away a tear. “I felt that all ambition was quite gone, and I was mad and sick. Indeed, only a week since I rose from a sick-bed. But Lorenzo is himself again!” he exclaimed, striking his breast energetically. “I will not succumb to Fate. I will again court the favor of the public, and this 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