In addition to this he had risen with a headache, so that he was in a decidedly bad humor.

Music had no charms for him at that moment, and he no sooner heard the first strains of Phil's violin than he rushed from the shop bareheaded, and dashed impetuously at the young fiddler.
"Get away from my shop, you little vagabond!" he cried.

"If I had my way, you should all be sent out of the country." Phil was quick to take a hint.

He saw the menace in the shopkeeper's eyes, and, stopping abruptly, ran farther down the street, hugging his fiddle, which he was afraid the angry tobacconist might seize and break.
This, to him, would be an irreparable misfortune and subject him to a severe punishment, though the fault would not be his.
Next he strolled into a side street, and began to play in front of some dwelling-houses.

Two or three young children, who had been playing in the street, gathered about him, and one of them gave him a penny.