"Yes, you make the prices. Per Bacco, how hot it is!"

Maurice pulled his hat down over his eyes.

"Maddalena, you'll get a sunstroke!" he said.

"Oh no, signore. I am accustomed to the sun."

"But to-day it's terrific!"

Indeed, the masses of stones in the watercourse seemed to draw and to

concentrate the sun-rays. The air was alive with minute and dancing

specks of light, and in the distance, seen under the railway bridge, the

sea looked hot, a fiery blue that was surely sweating in the glare of the

afternoon. The crowd of donkeys, of cattle, of pigs--there were many pigs

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on sale--looked both dull and angry in the heat, and the swarms of

Sicilians who moved slowly about among them, examining them critically,

appraising their qualities and noting their defects, perspired in their

festa clothes, which were mostly heavy and ill-adapted to summer-time. A

small boy passed by, bearing in his arms a struggling turkey. He caught

his foot in some stones, fell, bruised his forehead, and burst out

crying, while the indignant and terrified bird broke away, leaving some

feathers, and made off violently towards Etna. There was a roar of

laughter from the people near. Some ran to catch the turkey, others

picked up the boy. Salvatore had stopped to see this adventure, and was

now at a little distance surrounded by the Catanesi, who were evidently

determined to assist at his bidding for a donkey. The sight of the note

for a hundred lire had greatly increased their respect for Salvatore, and

with the Sicilian instinct to go, and to stay, where money is, they now

kept close to their comrade, eying him almost with awe as one in

possession of a fortune. Maurice saw them presently examining a group of

donkeys. Salvatore, with an autocratic air, and the wild gestures

peculiar to him, was evidently laying down the law as to what each animal

was worth. The fishermen stood by, listening attentively. The fact of

Salvatore's purchasing power gave him the right to pronounce an opinion.

He was in glory. Maurice thanked Heaven for that. The man in glory is

often the forgetful man. Salvatore, he thought, would not bother about

his daughter and his banker for a little while. But how to get rid of

Gaspare and Amedeo! It seemed to him that they would never leave his

side.

There were many wooden stands covered with goods for sale in the

watercourse, with bales of stuff for suits and dresses, with hats and

caps, shirts, cravats, boots and shoes, walking-sticks, shawls, household

utensils, crockery, everything the contadino needs and loves. Gaspare,

having money to lay out, considered it his serious duty to examine

everything that was to be bought with slow minuteness. It did not matter

whether the goods were suited to a masculine taste or not. He went into

the mysteries of feminine attire with almost as much assiduity as a

mother displays when buying a daughter's trousseau, and insisted upon

Maurice sharing his interest and caution. All sense of humor, all boyish

sprightliness vanished from him in this important epoch of his life. The

suspicion, the intensity of the bargaining contadino came to the surface.

His usually bright face was quite altered. He looked elderly, subtle, and

almost Jewish as he slowly passed from stall to stall, testing, weighing,

measuring, appraising.




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