ing produced by touching off some
cotton-wool soaked in alcohol! How terrific the peals of thunder
produced by the vibrations of a piece of sheet-iron! Whatever was
deficient in mechanical apparatus was readily supplied by the powerful
imagination of the Italians, who, though they had often seen all this
before, were not at all weary of looking at it, but enjoyed the
thousandth repetition as much as the first.

Those merry Italians!

There is an old, old game played by every vetturino.

When our travellers had returned to the hotel, and were enjoying
themselves in general conversation, the vetturino bowed himself in.
He was a good deal exercised in his mind. With a great preamble he
came to his point. As they intended to start early in the morning,
he supposed they would not object to settle their little bill now.

"_What_!" shouted Buttons, jumping up. "What bill? Settle a bill?
_We_ settle a bill? Are you mad?"

"Your excellencies intend to settle the bill, of course," said the
vetturino, with much phlegm.

"Our excellencies never dreamed of any such thing."

"Not pay? Ha! ha! You jest, Signor."

"Do you see this?" said Buttons, solemnly producing the contract.

"Well?" responded Il Piccolo.

"What is this?"

"Our contract."

"Do you know what it is that you have engaged to do?"

"To take you to Paestum."

"Yes; to Paestum and back, with a detour to Sorrento. Moreover, you
engage to supply us with three meals a day and lodgings, to all of
which we engage to pay a certain sum. What, then," cried Buttons,
elevating his voice, "in the name of all the blessed saints and
apostles, do you mean by coming to us about hotel bills?"

"Signor," said the vetturino, meekly, "when I made that contract I
fear I was too sanguine."

"Too sanguine!"

"And I have changed my mind since."

"Indeed?"

"I find that I am a poor man."

"Did you just find that out?"

"And that if I carry out this it will ruin me."

"Well?"

"So you'll have to pay for the hotel expenses yourselves," said
Il Piccolo, with desperation.

"I will forgive this insufferable insolence," said Buttons,
Majestically, "on condition that it never occurs again. Do you
see that?" he cried, in louder tones.

And he unfolded the contract, which he had been holding in his hand,
and sternly pointed to the big blotch of ink that was supposed to be
II Piccolo's signature.

"_Do you see that_!" he cried, in a voice of thunder.

The Italian did