to the effect that there is a
great deal too much fine art in Italian hotels, with a reference to the
fact that the one at Naples had the whole of Pompeii painted on the
dining room walls. She considers this practice embarrassing to the
public mind, which has no way of knowing whether to admire these things
or not, though personally we boldly decided to scorn them all. This,
however, has nothing to do with poppa and the commercial traveller. We
knew he was a commercial traveller by the way he put his toothpick in
his pocket, though poppa said afterwards that he was not exceptionally
endowed for that line of business. He was dining at our table, and by
his gratified manner when we sat down, it was plain that he could speak
English and would be very pleased to do so. Poppa, knowing that his time
was short, began at once.

"You belong to Bologna, sir?" he inquired with his first spoonful of
soup. For some reason it seems impossible to address a stranger at a
_table d'hote_, before the soup takes the baldness off the situation.

The gentleman smiled. He had a broad, open, amiable, red face, with a
short black beard and a round head covered with thick hair in curls,
beautifully parted. "I do not think I belong," he said; "my house of
business, it is at Milan, and I am born at Finalmarina. But I come much
to Bologna, yes."

"Where did you say you were born?" asked the Senator.

"Finalmarina. You did not go to there, no? I am sorry."

"It does seem a pity," replied poppa, "but we've been obliged to pass a
considerable number of your commercial centres, sir. This city, I
presume, has large manufacturing interests?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose. You 'ave seen that San Petronio, you cannot help.
Very enorm'! More big than San Peter in Rome. But not complete since
fourteenth century. In America you 'ave nothing unfinish, is it not?"

"Far as that goes," said poppa, "we generally manage to complete our
contracts within the year; as a rule, I may say within the building
season. But I have seen one or two Roman Catholic churches left with the
scaffolding hanging round the ceiling for a good deal longer, the altar
all fixed up too, and public worship going on just as usual. It seems to
be a way they have. Well, sir, I knew Bologna, by reputation, better
than any other Italian city, for years. Your local manufacture did the
business. As a boy at school, there was nothing I was more fond of for
my dinner. Thirty years ago, sir, the inter