with a step almost frisky carolina took leave of her brother, well content with the first fruit of her wooing. she had won the consent of her husband elect to wait for her bride, and the rest of the courtship seemed a matter of plain sailing; wherefore she hastened across the park to the steamship office and bank of signor tomato to secure her passage for genoa. the glow of triumph was upon her. she felt it a certainty now that her will would prevail in match-making as it had so many times in match-breaking; and this desirable condition, she reflected, was merely as it should be—only the reward that the just had a right to count upon receiving. had she not eaten [pg 83]salted fish in lent and kept all fast days, while her brother had devoured flesh in open shame and angelica had been detected munching garlic salame even on good friday?
she paused before the mutilated but heroic figure of an american jack tar who stood in wooden repose at the door of signor tomato. in their palmy days the banks of mulberry—then more numerous than the colony’s midwives—had a trick of closing their doors when the amount of deposits made it worth while, to the increase of the suicide rate and the encouragement of stiletto practice upon the bankers who got caught. after a while the legislature did a little closing, and signor tomato, one of the poor but honest caste, had to take his gruel along with the others. he could not take any more deposits, but he kept on with his money-exchange business, and when to this he decided to add an agency for mediterranean steamships he admitted the jack tar as a silent partner. at the time they joined [pg 84]forces the sailor was young and handsome. the tobacconist with whom he began his career had failed after less than a year of ill fortune. but his youth and hardy physique were no match for the climate of mulberry, which soon proved as ruinous to his manly beauty as it had to signor di bello’s real bananas. first one of his weather eyes disappeared, then the fine greek nose took leave, and in quick order both ears vanished; at length an arm and a half melted away, soon followed by a whole foot. it all came of his lounging on the sidewalk at hours when not even a respectable wooden indian is found out of doors. signor tomato would have insisted on his coming in of nights, but there was not an inch of room to spare within the bank, with his wife and three little tomatoes all living there, not to speak of the counter, the large dry-goods box that served for a safe, the family chair, and the cook stove. once he wheeled his silent partner into the countingroom—just after the loss of his left ear—but the door [pg 85]could not be closed, and out he had to go again into the ravaging night.
it was not the long-suffering jack tar that arrested carolina’s steps, but this placard pendent from his neck:
per genova juno 1,
piroscafo spartan king,
qui si vendono biglietti di
passaggio a prezzi d’occasione.
(for genoa june 1, the spartan king. passage tickets for sale here at bargain prices.)
“good-morning, signorina di bello! you do me great honour to read my poor placard.” it was the high-keyed voice of signor tomato, a little neapolitan of eagle beak and long brown whiskers. as he stepped lightly from the bank, bridget, his stout irish wife, was behind him. she, too, gave carolina a loud greeting, but in a [pg 86]brogue that was touched with neapolitan dialect, and took up her stand in the narrow doorway. at the same time three black, curly heads and bright faces peeped from behind her gingham skirts. these intent observers were pat, mike, and biddy, small but weighty factors of the tomato establishment. at the sound of her husband’s voice the mother and her brood had come from a mysterious corner at the back of the bank, which a nankeen sail concealed from the eye. carolina gave cold return to signor tomato’s salute, but his face did not fall. “perhaps the signorina is planning a voyage?” he said, smiling broadly.
“yes, i go to genoa. what company is this?”
“what company!” he exclaimed, his face an image of deepest amazement. “but pardon me, signorina; there is only one company in the mediterranean service, the great imperial international general navigation company, which i have the honour to represent.”
[pg 87]
“father nicodemo went last week on some other line—the duke? that’s it—the duke line.”
“o signorina!” all his faculties of expression united in a show of disgust. “you remember the proverb, ‘do what the priest says and not what the priest does.’ my word of honour, those duke boats, they are for the beasts. but the great imperial international general navigation company’s ships are extraordinary, stupendous! every one is a floating paradise. shall i speak frankly and tell you what they are? well, they are boats for ladies and gentlemen. there now, you have it.”
“arrah, si; for signorinies like yersilf and signories, sure.” in business matters bridget always aided her husband with a corroborant note.
“do you know what happened to a friend of mine who went on that other line?” the banker continued. “he caught the grip. why? now, signorina, your attention, and i will tell you. the duke [pg 88]line is not italian, eh? well, what kind of food do you suppose he got from those englishmen? bifsoup, bifsoup, bifsoup; rosbif, rosbif, rosbif. and not a grain of cheese for the soup! for eighteen days he saw macaroni only once, and then it was cooked without oil and had not even the tail of an anchovy or a piece of kidney to flavour it. for eighteen long days he had not so much as a smell of garlic or the sight of a pepper pod. do you wonder that he caught the grip?”
carolina was impressed, and bridget clinched the argument with “arrah, divvil a wonder!”
“besides,” signor tomato went on, “that line is what we navigators call uncertain, lame ships. the signorina will recall the proverb, ‘if you go with the lame you learn to limp.’”
“i wish to sail to-morrow. give me a second-class ticket.”
“to-morrow! boiling blood of san gennaro! but i will do it, signorina; i will get the ticket.”
[pg 89]
instantly banca tomato became a scene of bustle and excitement. the padrone sprang for the door, pushing aside bridget and scattering her brood. he darted behind the curtain and reappeared in a second with his coat and hat.
“in ten minutes you shall know,” he said, making off in the direction of broadway, where there was a real agency of the line.
“will ye sit down?” said bridget, placing the family chair near carolina, at the foot of the jack tar. “wisha! black toimes it is for bankers, and no babies comin’ to kape the wolf from the dure. it’s mesilf that remimbers this day four years come patrick’s mornin’ when me biddy first saw the light. arrah, manny’s the family wanted me thin for a wet nurse, and a fine pinny had they to pay, thim that got bridget tomah-toe. thin it was meat in the soup ivry day. and now phat is it? cabbage in a sup iv water, and secondhand cabbage, too, manny’s the toime. but i’m [pg 90]after raisin’ the little darlints as good as anny in mulberry, and much better, should anny wan ax ye.”
“who ask-a me? i’m know northeen ’bout dat,” said carolina, whose english scholarship had few equals in the colony.
“iv coorse ye don’t. sure the signorinies are not expected to, and they be ould enough to vote ivry hour on ’lection day. it’s lucky y’are to be goin’ back to the ould country. how long is it y’re out?”
“ees twelf year dat i’m in deesa countree.”
“twelve years! howly mother! and ye’re not married yet! troth i was signory tomah-toe the first year i landed.”
“what i’m care?” retorted carolina. “you mague too moocha noise from de mout. ees better you goin’ keep-a still.”
luckily for the cash interests of the bank, signor tomato appeared at this point, for bridget was not a woman to adopt any one’s suggestion that she hold her tongue. carolina got her steamship ticket, and the [pg 91]banker pocketed the first commission he had received in a week.
there was meat in the tomato soup that night, and on the way from the butcher’s bridget, with pat, mike, and biddy at her apron hem, stopped in the caffè of the beautiful sicilian and bought each of them a green cake out of the chromatic display in the window. while the youngsters were all eyes and hands for the pastry, bridget was all sight and mind for a certain living picture that she beheld in the half gloom of the caffè’s innermost depth. seated at a table were bertino and juno the superb. she was tipping pensively a glass of red wine, and he, with paper and ink before him, writhed in the throes of pen-wielding.
“ho, ho, me beauty!” said bridget to herself on the way home. “i’m thinkin’ the ould wan ud have a worrud to say about that. so the nephew is afther her along wid the uncle, and she afther both fish wid the wan hook. well, i hope the gossoon gets her, and it’ll do him anny good. di [pg 92]belly ought to be cut out, the ould divvil, wid his winkin’ and blinkin’ and collyfoxin’ afther young gerruls. but it’s noane iv my potaties, and i’ll not disgrace mesilf talkin’ iv it. if who’s-this—sara the pepper pod—iver got hold iv it though, wouldn’t there be a whillihu in mulberry! thim ghinny wimmin do be good for nothin’ but makin’ trouble wid their tongues. and phat am i sayin’, annyway? talkin’ iv the ghinnies! faith i’m half ghinny mesilf.” when she reached the bank she said to signor tomato, “there’s trouble brewin’ in the di belly family.”
“troub in de fam! ees what for?” he took an ancient black pipe from his mouth and stood up, all attention. she told him what she had seen in the gloom of the caffè. “ha, ha!” he cried, placing a forefinger wisely beside his nose, as he always did when quoting his neapolitan saws, “the mouse dances a tarantella when the cat takes a siesta.”
“true for ye, dominick; and a jewel [pg 93]iv a dance ’twill be agin the ould maid’s comin’ from italy. bad ’cess to her annyhow, and may the divvil fly away wid her back hair! tellin’ me to hould me tongue!”
when the boiling pot had filled the bank with its savour, she went to the door and looked with pride on her raven-curled trio in the roadway playing “duck on a tomato can.”
“here, pat, mike, biddy!” she called. “come in and ate your soup.”
they romped in, playing tag on the way.
