Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way by Jr. Horatio Alger (i have read the book TXT) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «The Young Musician; Or, Fighting His Way by Jr. Horatio Alger (i have read the book TXT) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“I have made no agreement of that sort, professor.”
“But, of course, it is understood,” said Riccabocca quickly, “as long as we draw so well.”
“You must excuse me, Professor Riccabocca. I must decline the proposal.”
“But why?” inquired the professor anxiously.
“I hope you won't press me for an explanation.”
“But I do. I can't understand why you should act so against your own interest. You can't expect people will come just to hear you play. You need me to help you.”
“It may be as you say, professor, but if you insist upon my speaking plainly, I don't care to travel with a man who has treated me as you have.”
“I don't understand you,” said Riccabocca nervously; but it was evident, from his expression, that he did.
“Then you seem very forgetful,” said Philip. “You tried to deprive me of my share of the proceeds of the entertainment at Wilkesville, and would have succeeded but for a lucky accident.”
“I told you that it was all owing to neuralgia,” said Professor Riccabocca. “I had such an attack of neuralgic headache that it nearly drove me wild.”
“Then,” said Philip, “I would rather find a partner who is not troubled with neuralgic headache. I think it would be safer.”
“It won't happen again, Mr. Gray, I assure you,” said the professor apologetically.
He endeavored to persuade Philip to renew the combination, but our hero steadily refused. He admitted that it might be to his pecuniary advantage, but he had lost all confidence in the eminent professor, and he thought it better to part now than to give him another opportunity of playing a similar trick upon him.
The professor thereupon consulted the landlord as to whether it would be advisable for him to give another entertainment unaided, and was assured very emphatically that it would not pay expenses.
“You make a great mistake, Mr. Gray,” said Riccabocca. “It would be a great advantage for you to have my assistance at this stage of your professional career.”
“I don't expect to have any professional career,” answered Philip.
“Don't you intend to become a professional musician?” asked the professor, surprised.
“Probably not. I have only been playing because I needed money, and my violin helped me to a living.”
“You can't make as much money in any other way.”
“Not at present; but I want to get a chance to enter upon some kind of business. I am going to New York.”
“You will some time have a chance to hear me there, in the Academy of Music,” said Riccabocca pompously.
“I will go and hear you,” said Philip, laughing, “if I can afford a ticket.”
“Say the word and we will appear there together, Mr. Gray.”
“I think not, professor.”
In fact, though Philip had found himself unexpectedly successful as a musician, he knew very well that he was only a clever amateur, and that years of study would be needed to make him distinguished.
He was glad that he had the means of paying his expenses for a considerable time, and had in his violin a trusty friend upon which he could rely in case he got into financial trouble. Directly after breakfast he set out on his journey.
CHAPTER XXXIX. AN AMBITIOUS WAYFARER.
The large sums which Philip had received for his playing might have dazzled a less sensible boy. He was quite conscious that he played unusually well for a boy, but when it came to selecting music as a profession, he felt it would not be wise to come to too hasty a decision. To be a commonplace performer did not seem to him very desirable, and would not have satisfied his ambition.
He had told Professor Riccabocca that he intended to go to New York. This design had not been hastily formed. He had heard a great deal of the great city in his home in the western part of the State of which it was the metropolis, and he was desirous of seeing it. Perhaps there might be some opening for him in its multitude of business houses.
Philip had plenty of money, and could easily have bought a railroad ticket, which would have landed him in New York inside of twenty-four hours, for he was only about four hundred miles distant; but he was in no hurry, and rather enjoyed traveling leisurely through the country towns, with his violin in his hand.
It reminded him of a biography he had read of the famous Doctor Goldsmith, author of the “Vicar of Wakefield,” who made a tour on the continent of Europe, paying his way with music evoked from a similar instrument.
Three days later, he found himself on the outskirts of a village, which I will call Cranston. It was afternoon, and he had walked far enough to be tired.
He was looking about for a pleasant place to lounge, when his attention was drawn to a boy of about his own age, who was sitting on the stone wall under a large tree.
He was rather a slender boy, and had originally been well dressed, but his suit was travel-stained, and covered with dust.
Now, boys have a natural attraction for each other, and Philip determined to introduce himself to the stranger. This he did in boy-fashion, by saying:
“Hello!”
“Hello!” said the stranger, looking up.
But he spoke slowly and wearily, and to Philip he seemed out of spirits.
“Do you live in Cranston?” asked Philip, taking a seat beside the other boy, upon the top of the stone wall.
“No; do you?”
“No.”
“Where do you live?”
“I don't live anywhere just at present,” answered Philip, with a smile. “I am traveling.”
“So am I,” said the other boy.
“I am traveling to New York,” Philip continued.
“And I am traveling from there,” said his new acquaintance.
Then both boys surveyed each other curiously.
“What's your name?” asked the stranger.
“Philip Gray. What's your's?”
“Mine is Henry Taylor. What have you got there?”
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