tunate men! What despair they must have felt in that moment.”
The captain caught Pietro's eyes fixed on her in the dim light with a great look of understanding, as if he recognized a kindred spirit in the world of romance, and once again was bewildered by the many sides to the girl's character. And this bewilderment was continued when he parted from her at the hotel door, for in that morning's tour he had been amused by her wit, had joined in her laughter, and yet felt that he had made but small headway toward an acquaintanceship.
“I am indebted to your kindness for a very pleasant and instructive morning,” he said, “and—I do not even know your name! Mine is Ware.”
She relented enough to say, after a momentary hesitation as if considering the etiquette of self-introduction, “And mine is Cardell. But please don't thank me for the forenoon. It was nothing. Surely Americans should be friendly to one another when in strange lands.”
That was all. She was gone before he could think of any sentence suggesting a return of her courtesies, or the possibility of other excursions. He felt distinctly rebuffed; quite as if he had failed to make himself sufficiently entertaining to tempt her to a continuance of the acquaintanceship, and secretly his pride was hurt. The guide still was standing near him and the captain thrust his hand into his pocket and proffered an extravagant payment in the shape of a gold coin; but Pietro abruptly put both hands behind him as if to avoid contamination and said: “Signor, the lady pays. She has been your host. I am not a servant who accepts tips from his employer's guests.”
“But—good Lord! You work for a living, don't you, Sordillo?”
“Sometimes I work for love,” stoutly asserted Pietro with a bow, and the captain had difficulty in suppressing a smile at the guide's exaggerated politeness and air of haughtiness.
“Then perhaps you will join me in a drink of something?” Jimmy suggested, but was again rebuffed with an almost equal melodrama of speech.
“I never drink when in attendance upon a lady of such unquestioned refinement and breeding as has the Signorina Cardell. I shall probably be with her this afternoon and it might prove offensive.” But at the look on Captain Jimmy's face he did relent sufficiently to add, “Some other time, signor, when I am off duty, perhaps I shall be glad of the hospitality. But until then”
With an airy wave of his hand and a lift of his hat he turned and disappeared into the vestibule.
“Well, I'll be tarred and feathered if he isn't a funny bird!” the captain chuckled, and then made his way across to the landing and called for a gondola to take him out to the Adventure, which still lay at anchor plainly visible from where he stood, and appearing in the distance like a smudgy tramp asleep in the entrance to the Giudecco.
As the gondolier deftly swung his ornate prow channelward the captain thought of his next move in keeping with his tourist rôle. It might not be wise, he considered, to have his luggage delivered at the hotel by one of his own men, although subterfuge seemed absurd. He wondered why he had not openly said that he was the master of a ship in the harbor and had merely dropped into the hotel for breakfast; but, after all, that might have caused some questioning in the mind of Miss Tommie Cardell as to how and why he should be ashore for an early breakfast. He turned in his seat and addressed the gondolier in English.
“Could you take a steamer trunk and a hand bag back to the Danieli for me and tell them that I shall come ashore and register after lunch?”
The man smiled, displaying wonderful teeth, and shaking his head, paused in his stroke, lifted a gesticulatory hand and said, “Signor, no spika Inglesa.”
Captain Jimmy repeated his words in fluent and unhesitating Italian, much to the gondolier's delight.
“The signor speaks Italian so well that it seems a shame for him to use English! Yes, I can take the trunk and bag and deliver your message. You may trust me that the work will be well done. And I shall tell them that the signor will arrive—when?”
“Some time this afternoon,” Ware replied. “You will have to lay alongside my ship until I get the things packed, but I will pay you for your time.”
“Excellent, signor. Most excellent.”
He fell into his long, swaying stroke again and his passenger turned and stared at the never uninteresting panorama of the marvelous waterway; but behind him the gondolier
