t was close upon ten when jerymn hilliard jr., equipped for travel in proper blue serge, appeared in the doorway of the hotel du lac. he looked at his watch and discovered that he still had twenty minutes before the omnibus meeting the second boat was due. he strolled across the court-yard, paused for a moment to tease the parrot, and sauntered on to his favorite seat in the summer house. he had barely established himself with a cigarette when who should appear in the gateway but miss constance wilder of villa rosa and a middle-aged man—at a glance the signor papa. jerymn hilliard’s heart doubled its beat. why, he asked himself excitedly, why had they come?
the signor papa closed his green umbrella, and having dropped into a chair—obligingly near the summer house—took off his hat and fanned himself. he had a tendency toward being stout and felt the heat. the girl, meanwhile, crossed the court and jangled the bell; she waited two—three—minutes, then she pulled the rope again.
“gustavo! oh, gustavo!”
the bell might have been rung by any-one—the fisherman, the omnibus-driver, suor celestina from the convent asking her everlasting alms—and gustavo took his time. but the voice was unmistakable; he waited only to throw a clean napkin over his arm before hurrying to answer.
“buon giorno, signorina! good morning, signore. it is beautiful wea-thir, but warm. già, it is warm.”
he bowed and smiled and rubbed his hands together. his moustaches, fairly bristling with good will, turned up in a half circle until they caressed his nose on either side. he bustled about placing table and chairs, and recklessly dusting them with the clean napkin. the signorina laid her fluffy white parasol on one chair and seated herself on another, her profile turned to the summer house. gustavo hovered over them, awaiting their pleasure, the genius itself of respectful devotion. it was constance who gave the order—she, it might be noticed, gave most of the orders that were given in her vicinity. she framed it in english out of deference to gustavo’s pride in his knowledge of the language.
“a glass of vino santo for the signore and limonata for me. i wish to put the sugar in myself, the last time you mixed it, gustavo, it was all sugar and no lemon. and bring a bowl of cracked ice—fino—fino—and some pine nut cakes if you are sure they are fresh.”
“sank you, signorina. subitissimo!”
he was off across the court, his black coat-tails, his white napkin streaming behind, proclaiming to all the world that he was engaged on the signorina americana’s bidding; for persons of lesser note he still preserved a measure of dignity.
the young man in the summer house had meanwhile dropped his cigarette upon the floor and noiselessly stepped on it. he had also—with the utmost caution lest the chair creak—shifted his position so that he might command the profile of the girl. the entrance to the summer house was fortunately on the other side, and in all likelihood they would not have occasion to look within. it was eavesdropping of course, but he had already been convicted of that yesterday, and in any case it was not such very bad eavesdropping. the court-yard of the hotel du lac was public property; he had been there first, he was there by rights as a guest of the house; if anything, they were the interlopers. besides, nobody talked secrets with a head waiter. his own long conversations with gustavo were as open and innocent as the day; the signorina was perfectly welcome to listen to them as much as she chose.
she was sitting with her chin in her hand, eyeing the flying coat-tails of gustavo, a touch of amusement in her face. her father was eyeing her severely.
“constance, it is disgraceful!”
she laughed. apparently she already knew or divined what it was that was disgraceful, but the accusation did not appear to bother her much. mr. wilder proceeded grumblingly.
“it’s bad enough with those five deluded officers, but they walked into the trap with their eyes open and it’s their own affair. but look at gustavo; he can scarcely carry a dish without breaking it when you are watching him. and giuseppe—that confounded farfalla with its yellow sails floats back and forth in front of the terrace till i am on the point of having it scuttled as a public nuisance; and those three washer-women and the post-office clerk and the boy who brings milk, and luigi and—every man, woman and child in the village of valedolmo!”
“and my own dad as well?”
mr. wilder shook his head.
“i came here at your instigation for rest and relaxation—to get rid of nervous worries, and here i find a big new worry waiting for me that i’d never thought of having before. what if my only daughter should take it in her head to marry one of these infernally good-looking italian officers?”
constance reached over and patted his arm.
“don’t let it bother you, dad; i assure you i won’t do anything of the sort. i should think it my duty to learn the subjunctive mood, and that is impossible.”
gustavo came hurrying back with a tray. he arranged the glasses, the ice, the sugar, the cakes, with loving, elaborate obsequiousness. the signorina examined the ice doubtfully, then with approval.
“it’s exactly right to-day, gustavo! you got it too large the last time, you remember.”
she stirred in some sugar and tasted it tentatively, her head on one side. gustavo hung upon her expression in an agony of apprehension; one would have thought it a matter for public mourning if the lemonade were not mixed exactly right. but apparently it was right—she nodded and smiled—and gustavo’s expression assumed relief. constance broke open a pine nut cake and settled herself for conversation.
“haven’t you any guests, gustavo?” her eyes glanced over the empty court-yard. “i am afraid the hotel is not having a very prosperous season.”
“grazie, signorina. zer never are many in summer; it is ze dead time, but still zay come and zay go. seven arrive last night.”
“seven! that’s nice. what are they like?”
“german mountain-climbers wif nails in zer shoes. zey have gone to riva on ze first boat.”
“that’s too bad—then the hotel is empty?”
“but no! zer is an italian signora wif two babies and a governess, and two english ladies and an american gentleman—”
“an american gentleman?” her tone was languidly interested. “how long has he been here?”
“tree—four day.”
“indeed—what is he like?”
“nice—ver’ nice.” (gustavo might well say that; his pockets were lined with the american gentleman’s silver lire.) “he talk to me always. ‘gustavo,’ he say, ‘i am all alone; i wish to be ’mused. come and talk angleesh.’ yes, it is true; i have no time to finish my work; i spend whole day talking wif dis yong american gentleman. he is just a little—” he touched his head significantly.
“really?” she raised her eyes with an air of awakened interest. “and how did he happen to come to valedolmo?”
“he come to meet his family, his sister and his—his aunt, who are going wif him to ze tyrollo. but zay have not arrive. zey are in lucerne, he says, where zer is a lion dying, and zey wish to wait until he is dead; zen zey come.—yes, it is true; he tell me zat.” gustavo tapped his head a second time.
the signorina glanced about apprehensively.
“is he safe, gustavo—to be about?”
“si, signorina, sicuramente! he is just a little simple.”
mr. wilder chuckled.
“where is he, gustavo? i think i’d like to make that young man’s acquaintance.”
“i sink, signore, he is packing his trunk. he go away today.”
“today, gustavo?” there was audible regret in constance’s tone. “why is he going?”
“it is not possible for him to stand it, signorina. valedolmo too dam slow.”
“gustavo! you mustn’t say that; it is very, very bad. nice men don’t say it.”
gustavo held his ground.
“si, signorina, zat yong american gentleman say it—dam slow, no divertimento.”
“he’s just about right, gustavo,” mr. wilder broke in. “the next time a young american gentleman blunders into the hotel du lac you send him around to me.”
“si, signore.”
gustavo rolled his eyes toward the signorina; she continued to sip her lemonade.
“i have told him yesterday an american family live at villa rosa; he say ‘all right, i go call,’ but—but i sink maybe you were not at home.”
“oh!” the signorina raised her head in apparent enlightenment. “so that was the young man? yes, to be sure, he came, but he said he was looking for prince sartorio’s villa. i am sorry you were away, father, you would have enjoyed him; his english was excellent.—did he tell you he saw me, gustavo?”
“si, signorina, he tell me.”
“what did he say? did he think i was nice?”
gustavo looked embarrassed.
“i—i no remember, signorina.”
she laughed and to his relief changed the subject.
“those english ladies who are staying here—what do they look like? are they young?”
gustavo delivered himself of an inimitable gesture which suggested that the english ladies had entered the bounds of that indefinite period when the subject of age must be politely waived.
“they are tall, signorina, and of a thinness—you would not believe it possible.”
“i see! and so the poor young man was bored?”
gustavo bowed vaguely. he saw no connection.
“he was awfully good-looking,” she added with a sigh. “i’m afraid i made a mistake. it would be rather fun, don’t you think, dad, to have an entertaining young american gentleman about?”
“ump!” he grunted. “i thought you were so immensely satisfied with the officers.”
“oh, i am,” she agreed with a shrug which dismissed forever the young american gentleman.
“well, gustavo,” she added in a business-like tone, “i will tell you why we called. the doctor says the signor papa is getting too fat—i don’t think he’s too fat, do you? he seems to me just comfortably chubby; but anyway, the doctor says he needs exercise, so we’re going to begin climbing mountains with nails in our shoes like the germans. and we’re going to begin to-morrow because we’ve got two english people at the villa who adore mountains. do you think you can find us a guide and some donkeys? we want a nice, gentle, lady-like donkey for my aunt, and another for the english lady and a third to carry the things—and maybe me, if i get tired. then we want a man who will twist their tails and make them go; and i am very particular about the man. i want him to be picturesque—there’s no use being in italy if you can’t have things picturesque, is there, gustavo?”
“si, signorina,” he bowed and resumed his attitude of strained attention.
“he must have curly hair and black eyes and white teeth and a nice smile; i should like him to wear a red sash and earrings. he must be obliging and cheerful and deferential and speak good italian—i won’t have a man who speaks only dialect. he must play the mandolin and sing santa lucia—i believe that’s all.”
“and i suppose since he is to act as guide he must know the region?” her father mildly suggested.
“oh, no, that’s immaterial; we can always ask our way.”
mr. wilder grunted, but offered no further suggestion.
“we pay four lire a day and furnish his meals,” she added munificently. “and we shall begin with the castle on monte baldo; then when we get very proficient we’ll climb monte maggiore. do you understand?”
“ze signorina desires tree donkeys and a driver at seven o’clock to-morrow morning to climb monte baldo?”
“in brief, yes, but please remember the earrings.”
meanwhile a commotion was going on behind them. the hotel omnibus had rumbled into the court yard. a fachino had dragged out a leather trunk, an english hat box and a couple of valises and dumped them on the ground while he ran back for the paste pot and a pile of labels. the two under-waiters, the chamber-maid and the boy who cleaned boots had drifted into the court. it was evident that the american gentleman’s departure was imminent.
the luggage was labelled and hoisted to the roof of the omnibus; they all drew up in a line with their eyes on the door; but still the young man did not come. gustavo, over his shoulder, dispatched a waiter to hunt him up. the waiter returned breathless. the gentleman was nowhere. he had searched the entire house; there was not a trace. gustavo sent the boot-boy flying down the arbor to search the garden; he was beginning to feel anxious. what if the gentleman in a sudden fit of melancholia had thrown himself into the lake? that would indeed be an unfortunate affair!
constance reassured him, and at the same time she arose. it occurred to her suddenly that, since the young man was going, there was nothing to be gained by waiting, and he might think—she picked up her parasol and started for the gate, but mr. wilder hung back; he wanted to see the matter out.
“father,” said she reproachfully, “it’s embarrassing enough for him to fee all those people without our staying and watching him do it.”
“i suppose it is,” he acknowledged regretfully, as he resumed his hat and umbrella and palm leaf fan.
she paused for a second in the gateway.
“addio, gustavo,” she called over her shoulder. “don’t forget the earrings.”
gustavo bowed twice and turned back with a dazed air to direct the business in hand. the boot-boy, reappearing, shook his head. no, the gentleman was not to be found in the garden. the omnibus driver leaned from his seat and swore.
corpo di bacco! did he think the boat would wait all day for the sake of one passenger? as it was, they were ten minutes late and would have to gallop every step of the way.
the turmoil of ejaculation and gesture was approaching a climax; when suddenly, who should come sauntering into the midst of it, but the young american man himself! he paused to light a cigarette, then waved his hand aloft toward his leather belongings.
“take ’em down, gustavo. changed my mind; not going to-day—it’s too hot.”
gustavo gasped.
“but, signore, you have paid for your ticket.”
“true, gustavo, but there is no law compelling me to use it. to tell the truth i find that i am fonder of valedolmo than i had supposed. there is something satisfying about the peace and tranquility of the place—one doesn’t realize it till the moment of parting comes. do you think i can obtain a room for a—well, an indefinite period?”
gustavo saw a dazzling vista of silver lire stretching into the future. with an all-inclusive gesture he placed the house, the lake, the surrounding mountains, at the disposal of the american.
“you shall have what you wish, signore. at dis season ze hotel du lac—”
“is not crowded, and there are half a hundred rooms at my disposal? very well, i will keep the one i have which commands a very attractive view of a rose-colored villa set in a grove of cypress trees.”
the others had waited in a state of suspension, dumbfounded at what was going on. but as soon as the young man dipped into his pocket and fished out a handful of silver, they broke into smiles; this at least was intelligible. the silver was distributed, the luggage was hoisted down, the omnibus was dismissed. the courtyard resumed its former quiet; just the american gentleman, gustavo and the parrot were left.
then suddenly a frightful suspicion dawned upon gustavo—it was more than a suspicion; it was an absolute certainty which in his excitement he had overlooked. from where had the american gentleman dropped? not the sky, assuredly, and there was no place else possible, unless the door of the summer house. yes, he had been in the summer house, and not sleeping either. an indefinable something about his manner informed gustavo that he was privy to the entire conversation. gustavo, a picture of guilty remorse, searched his memory for the words he had used. why, oh why, had he not piled up adjectives? it was the opportunity of a lifetime and he had wantonly thrown it away.
but—to his astonished relief—the young man appeared to be bearing no malice. he appeared, on the contrary, quite unusually cheerful as he sauntered whistling, across the court and seated himself in the exact chair the signorina had occupied. he plunged his hand into his pocket suggestively—gustavo had been the only one omitted in the distribution of silver—and drew forth a roll of bills. having selected five crisp five-lire notes, he placed them under the sugar bowl, and watched his companion while he blew three meditative rings of smoke.
“gustavo,” he inquired, “do you suppose you could find me some nice, gentle, lady-like donkeys and a red sash and a pair of earrings?”
gustavo’s fascinated gaze had been fixed upon the sugar bowl and he had only half caught the words.
“scusi, signore, i no understand.”
“just sit down, gustavo, it makes me nervous to see you standing all the time. i can’t be comfortable, you know, unless everybody else is comfortable. now pay strict attention and see if you can grasp my meaning.”
gustavo dubiously accepted the edge of the indicated chair; he wished to humor the signore’s mood, however incomprehensible that mood might be. for half an hour he listened with strained attention while the gentleman talked and toyed with the sugar bowl. amazement, misgiving, amusement, daring, flashed in succession across his face; in the end he leaned forward with shining eyes.
“si, si,” he whispered after a conspiratorial glance over his shoulder, “i will do it all; you may trust to me.”
the young man rose, removed the sugar bowl, and sauntered on toward the road. gustavo pocketed the notes and gazed after him.
“dio mio,” he murmured as he set about gathering up the glasses, “zese americans!”
at the gate the young man paused to light another cigarette.
“addio, gustavo,” he called over his shoulder, “don’t forget the earrings!”
