afternoon of the 10th of May
everyone who was left in Catania went out towards Trecastagne to see the
return of the people, who are said to be drunk after their religious
devotions. In order to do this in comfort Peppino Di Gregorio had
arranged that we should go to colazione with Giovanni Bianca, a friend of
his who has a country house on the Slopes of Etna near the route, and
afterwards we would go where we could see the return of the devout.
First, he said, we must go to the station and fetch Joe, because he was
to come too.

I said: "With pleasure, but why go to the station? I thought Joe was
employed in the municipio?"

"We shall find him keeping order among the coachmen in the station-yard,"
replied Peppino.

And there he was in the uniform of a guardia municipale.

"Why, Joe!" I exclaimed, "I thought you were writing at a desk all day in
the Mansion House. I did not know you were a policeman."

He replied that he was a guardia municipale, which is not exactly the
same thing, and was going on to explain the difference between the
carabinieri, the pubblica sicurezza, the guardia municipale, the guardia
campestre and all the rest of it, when I interrupted him:

"I shall never remember what you are telling me; I shall always think of
you as a policeman."

"All right," he replied, "I'll be Joe the Policeman, and Ninu is a
policeman too."

"I can quite believe it," I said. "When we went to the lava you both
treated me just as our policemen in London treat the old ladies and
gentlemen who are afraid of the traffic; you helped me along and never
let me fall down, and looked after me as though I had been given
specially into your charge. London policemen are just like that--very
kind and helpful. I know one of them in private life and he is a capital
fellow. I made his acquaintance over my bicycle."

"How was that?" inquired Joe. "Did you get run over and did he pick you
up? What did I tell you about living on the slopes of volcanoes?"

"It was not exactly that," I replied; "it was because I wanted to avoid
being run over that I gave my bicycle to a man to sell it for me when the
motor-cars began to get on my nerves, and this policeman bought it. He
did not give much for it, but if the value of his friendship is taken
into the account I think I made rather a good bargain."

"Tell me about him."

"Oh, there's nothing to tell. He comes to see me sometimes, when he is
free. We have tastes in common