he was, acquainted with almost all the
cities of the earth,--through his readings.

The money question did not worry him any. Dona Cinta had it in
abundance and it was easy to find her bunch of keys. An old and
slow-going steamer, commanded by one of his father's friends, had just
entered port and the following day would weigh anchor for Italy.

This sailor accepted the son of his old comrade without any traveling
papers. He would arrange all irregularities with his friends in Genoa.
Between captains they ought to exchange such services, and Ulysses
Ferragut, who was awaiting his son in Naples (so Esteban told him),
would not wish to waste time just because of some ridiculous, red tape
formality.

Telemachus with a thousand pesetas in his pocket, extracted from a work
box which his mother used as a cash box, embarked the following day. A
little suit-case, taken from his home with deliberate and skillful
precaution, formed his entire baggage.

From Genoa he went to Rome, and from there to Naples, with the
foolhardiness of the innocent, employing Spanish and Catalan words to
reinforce his scanty Italian vocabulary acquired at the opera. The only
positive information that guided him on his quest of adventure was the
name of the _albergo_ on the shore of S. Lucia which Caragol had given
him as his father's residence.

He sought him vainly for many days and visited in Naples the consignees
who thought that the captain had returned to his country some time ago.

Not finding him, he began to be afraid. He ought to be back in
Barcelona by this time and what he had begun as an heroic voyage was
going to turn into a runaway, a boyish escapade. He thought of his
mother who was perhaps weeping hours at a time, reading and rereading
the letter that he had left for her explaining the object of his
flight. Besides, Italy's intervention in the war,--an event which every
one had been expecting but had supposed to be still a long way
off,--had suddenly become an actual fact. What was there left for him
to do in this country?... And one morning he had disappeared.

Since the hotel porter could not tell him anything more, the father,
after his first impression of surprise had passed, thought it would be
a good plan to visit the firm of consignees. Perhaps there they might
give him some news.

The war was the only thing of interest in that office. But Ferragut,
owner of a ship and a former client, was guided by the director to the