an usual. Why should the
padrone ask him if he wanted his supper? Though he was not hungry, he
thought it best to answer in the affirmative.

"What would you like?" asked the padrone.

Again Phil was puzzled, for the suppers supplied by the padrone never
varied, always consisting of bread and cheese.

"Perhaps," continued the padrone, meeting no answer, "you would like to
have coffee and roast beef."

All was clear now. Phil understood that he had been seen going in or out
of the restaurant, though he could not tell by whom. He knew well enough
what to expect, but a chivalrous feeling of friendship led him to try to
shield his young companion, even at the risk of a more severe punishment
to be inflicted upon himself.

"It was my fault," he said, manfully. "Giacomo would not have gone in
but for me."

"Wicked, ungrateful boy!" exclaimed the padrone, wrathfully. "It was my
money that you spent. You are a thief!"

Phil felt that this was a hard word, which he did not deserve. The money
was earned by himself, though claimed by the padrone. But he did not
venture to say this. It would have been revolutionary. He thought it
prudent to be silent.

"Why do you say nothing?" exclaimed the padrone, stamping his foot. "Why
did you spend my money?"

"I was hungry."

"So you must live like a nobleman! Our supper is not good enough for
you. How much did you spend?"

"Thirty cents."

"For each?"

"No, signore, for both."

"Then you shall have each fifteen blows, one for each penny. I will
teach you to be a thief. Pietro, the stick! Now, strip!"

"Padrone," said Phil, generously, "let me have all the blows. It was my
fault; Giacomo only went because I asked him."

If the padrone had had a heart, this generous request would have touched
it; but he was not troubled in that way.

"He must be whipped, too," he said. "He should not have gone with you."

"He is sick, padrone," persisted Phil. "Excuse him till he is better."

"Not a word more," roared the padrone, irritated at his persistence.
"If he is sick, it is because he has eaten too much," he added, with a
sneer. "Pietro, my stick!"

The two boys began to strip mechanically, knowing that there was no
appeal. Phil stood bare to the waist. The padrone seized the stick and
began to belabor him. Phil's brown face showed by its contortions the
pain he suffered, but he was too proud to cry out. When the punishment
was finished his back was streaked with red, and lo