Now Salvatore came up in his glory of a dark-blue suit, with a gay shirt
of pink-and-white striped cotton, fastened at the throat with long, pink
strings that had tasselled ends, a scarlet bow-tie with a brass anchor
and the Italian flag thrust through it, yellow shoes, and a black hat,
placed well over the left ear. Upon the forefinger of his left hand he
displayed a thick snake-ring of tarnished metal, and he had a large,
overblown rose in his button-hole. His mustaches had been carefully
waxed, his hair cropped, and his hawklike, subtle, and yet violent face
well washed for the great occasion. With bold familiarity he seized
Maurice's hand.
"Buon giorno, signore. Come sta lei?"
"Benissimo."
"And Maddalena, signore? What do you think of Maddalena?"
He looked at his girl with a certain pride, and then back at Maurice
searchingly.
"Maddalena is beautiful to-day," Maurice answered, quickly. He did not
want to discuss her with her father, whom he longed to be rid of, whom he
meant to get rid of if possible at the fair. Surely it would be easy to
give him the slip there. He would be drinking with his companions, other
fishermen and contadini, or playing cards, or--yes, that was an idea!
"Salvatore!" Maurice exclaimed, catching hold of the fisherman's arm.
"Signore?"
"There'll be donkeys at the fair, eh?"
"Donkeys--per Dio! Why, last year there were over sixty, and--"
"And isn't there a donkey auction sometimes, towards the end of the day,
when they go cheap?"
"Si, signore! Si, signore!"
The fisherman's greedy little eyes were fixed on Maurice with keen
interrogation.
"Don't let us forget that," Maurice said, returning his gaze. "You're a
good judge of a donkey?"
Salvatore laughed.
"Per Bacco! There won't be a man at San Felice that can beat me at that!"
"Then perhaps you can do something for me. Perhaps you can buy me a
donkey. Didn't I speak of it before?"
"Si, signore. For the signora to ride when she comes back from Africa?"
He smiled.
"For a lady to ride," Maurice answered, looking at Maddalena.
Salvatore made a clicking noise with his tongue, a noise that suggested
eating. Then he spat vigorously and took from his jacket-pocket a long,
black cigar. This was evidently going to be a great day for him.
"Avanti, signorino! Avanti!"
Gaspare was shouting and waving his hat frantically from the road.
"Come along, Maddalena!"