med their hearts
as the wine warmed their bodies. Amedeo's long, white face was becoming
radiant, and even Salvatore softened towards the Inglese. A sort of
respect, almost furtive, came to him for the wealth that could carelessly
entertain this crowd of people, that could buy clocks, chairs, donkeys at
pleasure, and scarcely know that soldi were gone, scarcely miss them. As
he attacked his share of the turkey vigorously, picking up the bones with
his fingers and tearing the flesh away with his white teeth, he tried to
realize what such wealth must mean to the possessor of it, an effort
continually made by the sharp-witted, very poor man. And this wealth--for
the moment some of it was at his command! To ask to-day would be to have.
Instinctively he knew that, and felt like one with money in the bank. If
only it might be so to-morrow and for many days! He began to regret the
limit, almost to forget the sound of the laughter of the Catania
fishermen upon the steps of the church of Sant' Onofrio. His pride was
going to sleep, and his avarice was opening its eyes wider.

When the meal was over they went out onto the pavement to take coffee in
the open air. The throng was much greater than it had been when they
entered, for people were continually arriving from the more distant
villages, and two trains had come in from Messina and Catania. It was
difficult to find a table. Indeed, it might have been impossible had not
Gaspare ruthlessly dislodged a party of acquaintances who were
comfortably established around one in a prominent position.

"I must have a table for my padrone," he said. "Go along with you!"

And they meekly went, smiling, and without ill-will--indeed, almost as if
they had received a compliment.

"But, Gaspare," began Maurice, "I can't--"

"Here is a chair for you, signorino. Take it quickly."

"At any rate, let us offer them something."

"Much better spare your soldi now, signorino, and buy something at the
auction. That clock plays the 'Tre Colori' just like a band."

"Buy it. Here is some money."

He thrust some notes into the boy's ready hand.

"Grazie, signorino. Ecco la musica!"

In the distance there rose the blare of a processional march from "Aida,"
and round the corner of the Via di Polifemo came a throng of men and boys
in dark uniforms, with epaulets and cocked hats with flying plumes,
blowing with all their might into wind instruments of enormous size.

"That is the musica of the cit