upon the facts brought out carolina decided that marianna would do very well. but the leap was far too hazardous to be taken in the dark, and the prudence that guided her in the selection of other household belongings she would now bring to bear in choosing a wife. if needs be, she would journey to italy, and make sure by a close survey of marianna that hers was not a nature likely to attempt a ruling of the roost. to the jesuitry of her view, a wife of eighteen and a husband of gloaming forty were well mated when their union would serve her own most laudable purpose; and as for any trifling obstacle like a sweetheart, that could be filliped away. once upon the [pg 76]ground, and satisfied that the girl would prove a wife of the desired brand, she had no doubt of accomplishing the shipment of the goods. but there set in a fear for the turn events might take during her absence. with the sentinel gone from the gate, juno might charge and carry the castle. here was a danger that must be offset.
throwing a plaid shawl over her head and not stopping to change her open-heeled house slippers, she set forth through the ruck of mulberry for the shop of her brother. it was a novel sight to behold her hopping over curbstones in that unstately manner, and hot grew the scandalous guesses as to the cause.
“trouble, grand trouble in casa di bello,” was the common voice.
as carolina hurried forward she had no eye for the signs of opening summer on every hand—the fire escapes abloom with potted verdure, the blithe touch that glistening radishes gave to the vegetable stalls, the moon face of chiara the basilican beaming [pg 77]from her bower of dandelion leaves. passing the schoolhouse, she received a reverent bow and a low “buon giorno” from the hokey-pokey man, who stood by his dazzling cart, ready for the onslaught of boys and girls, who would soon be out at recess clamouring for one-cent dabs of pink sorbetto on strips of brown paper. little maidens decked in snowy frocks and veils walked proudly to their first communion, all mindful of their skirts as they passed the racks of boccanegra the macaroni baker, whose new-made paste hung drying in the sunshine; but of them carolina took no heed, so wrapped was she in her great project of courting a suitable wife.
at bayard street the sound of voices raised in a familiar anthem caught her ear, and there swung into view from around the corner a handful of marching men. they were members of the genovese society, garbed bravely in the uniform of italian infantry, out to celebrate the feast of st. george, of all holidays the dearest to genoa. [pg 78]at sight of them the cloud of anxiety that had shadowed her face lifted, and she smiled with a shrewd content. the feast of san giorgio! her brother’s birthday as well as the day of the knight who carved the dragon. the alarm sounded by angelica concerning juno had driven the fact from her head, but there came back with it now a heartsome consciousness that it was a day of rockribbed truth in her brother’s life. if at other times his promises might have the frailty of spaghetti sticks, she knew that it would not be so on this, his saint’s day. it had ever been so with the men of genoa. with renewed spirits she foresaw the success of her plan to exact from him a pledge not to marry until she should return from italy. such a promise or any other made to-day he would keep, though all the maids and widows of mulberry united to make him disregard it.
she found him alone at the shop, sprawled outside beneath the wooden bunch in his curve-backed chair, bathing in the sunshine. only on rare and critical occasions did she [pg 79]visit the shop, and the sight of her brought him quickly to his feet.
“governo ladro!” he exclaimed. “what has happened?”
“i am going to italy.”
“to italy! what for?”
“it is twelve years since i heard the chimes of san lorenzo.”
“yes; i think so,” he said, going behind the counter, shaving off a piece of roman cheese and tossing it into his mouth. “when do you set off?”
“as soon as possible.”
“there is a ship for genoa to-morrow,” he said eagerly.
looking him in the eye, she asked, “are you betrothed to the napolitana?”
“satan the crocodile!” he roared, pounding the counter. “this is too much! do you count me a simpleton?”
“promise me, caro fratello, that you will not take a wife until i return.”
“by the egg, i will not promise! do you think i don’t know this is my birthday? [pg 80]suppose the ship went down? i should have to live and die a bachelor.”
“promise at least that you will marry no one for three months.”
“ma che? what nonsense is this? are you afraid of the napolitana? bah! how foolish you are! a fine woman, yes. but do you think i don’t know what i am about?”
“promise for three months.”
“si, si, if you wish it; but it is all grand nonsense.”
“do you know what i am going to do in italy?” she asked, with an essay at archness that was a sorry failure.
“hunt a husband?” he chuckled.
“no; a wife.”
“what shall you do with her?” he asked gravely, scenting the truth.
“bring her to you, my brother.”
“to me! excuse me; keep her for yourself. that is an affair i shall attend to when the time comes.”
“but in mulberry you can not get what i shall bring you from italy.”
[pg 81]
“what is that?”
“a wife that is good enough for you and casa di bello.”
“bah! what do you tell me?” he growled walking to the door. “talk to me about wives! they are as thick as the sparrows in paradise, and just as hungry. good, fine wives, too.” he dropped into the chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, and extended his little legs. “who is she?” he asked after a while, twirling his huge mustache.
“marianna. don’t you remember her? bertino’s foster sister. a fine young girl; no bad habits and sound in health.”
“what age?”
“eighteen.”
“you’d better buy your passage ticket,” he said, “if you wish to go on to-morrow’s ship.”
