ded to
that, it was nearly four o'clock, his sister's dinner-hour and time for
him to go home.

In the natural order of things, Micio, being the son of artists, will
return to the stage. Should he fail as an adult actor, he will perhaps
travel in tiles or in ecclesiastical millinery, or he may get employment
on the railway, or as a clerk in the office of the cemetery. I should
like to know when the time comes, for I feel towards him somewhat as he
feels towards Pietro Longo. And there is a chance that he will tell me,
for we promised to exchange postcards, and before parting he gave me his
address--

(Indirizzo)
ALL' EGREGIO GIOVANOTTO MICIO BOCCADIFUOCO,
Casa Educativa Garibaldi,
Via Fata Morgana No. 92, Castellinaria.

Four o'clock was also Giovanni's dinner-hour, and this was the day he had
promised to dine with me. I was in some fear lest I might choose the
wrong restaurant or order something that would disagree with him; the
evening's entertainment, on which the whole town depended, was at stake.
But I need not have worried about it. Giovanni lives so entirely among
people who are devoted to him that he habitually takes the lead in
everything. Consequently he chose the restaurant, and its name was _Quo
Vadis_? He also brought a couple of friends, ordered the dinner and, as
a matter of course, took me for a drive afterwards to the lighthouse and
back.

As we drove through the town, he pointed out the municipio, the
post-office, the old Saracen palace, and the other objects of interest.
When we got into the country, it occurred to me that I might not again
have Giovanni all to myself, it was the first time we had been alone. If
I could now get him to talk about his art, he might tell me exactly how
deeply he feels the emotions which he expresses with so much conviction.
I considered how to begin. I had better ask him first which was his
favourite character. I turned to put the question. He had fallen
asleep, and gave me rather an anxious time, for he repeatedly seemed to
be on the point of rolling out of the carriage. It was a relief when, at
last, the clattering of the horse's hoofs on the paved streets woke him
up, and there was no longer any necessity to hold him in by the
coat-tail.

"There now," said Giovanni, as he helped me out, "we have had a
delightful drive. Is this your umbrella?" he added, ha