Selected Stories (9781440673832) by Mark (EDT) E.; Mitchell Forster

one word of Gennaro’s answer.
    The two yelled and shouted at each other for quite ten minutes, at the end of which Gennaro rushed back to his charcoal-bin and Signora Scafetti burst into tears, as well she might, for she greatly valued her English guests.
    â€˜He says,’ she sobbed, ‘that Signor Eustace is well where he is, and that he will not fetch him. I can do no more.’
    But I could, for, in my stupid British way, I have got some insight into the Italian character. I followed Mr Gennaro to his place of repose, and found him wriggling down on to a dirty sack.
    â€˜I wish you to fetch Signor Eustace to me,’ I began.
    He hurled at me an unintelligible reply.
    â€˜If you fetch him, I will give you this.’ And out of my pocket I took a new ten lire note.
    This time he did not answer.
    â€˜This note is equal to ten lire in silver,’ I continued, for I knew that the poor-class Italian is unable to conceive of a single large sum.
    â€˜I know it.’
    â€˜That is, two hundred soldi.’
    â€˜I do not desire them. Eustazio is my friend.’
    I put the note into my pocket.
    â€˜Besides, you would not give it me.’
    â€˜I am an Englishman. The English always do what they promise.’
    â€˜That is true.’ It is astonishing how the most dishonest of nations trust us. Indeed, they often trust us more than we trust one another. Gennaro knelt up on his sack. It was too dark to see his face, but I could feel his warm garlicky breath coming out in gasps, and I knew that the eternal avarice of the South had laid hold upon him.
    â€˜I could not fetch Eustazio to the house. He might die there.’
    â€˜You need not do that,’ I replied patiently. ‘You need only bring him to me; and I will stand outside in the garden.’ And to this, as if it were something quite different, the pitiable youth consented.
    â€˜But give me first the ten lire.’
    â€˜No.’—for I knew the kind of person with whom I had to deal. Once faithless, always faithless.
    We returned to the terrace, and Gennaro, without a single word, pattered off towards the pattering that could be heard at the remoter end. Mr Sandbach, Leyland, and myself moved away a little from the house, and stood in the shadow of the white climbing roses, practically invisible.
    We heard ‘Eustazio’ called, followed by absurd cries of pleasure from the poor boy. The pattering ceased, and we heard them talking. Their voices got nearer, and presently I could discern them through the creepers, the grotesque figure of the young man, and the slim little white-robed boy. Gennaro had his arm round Eustace’s neck, and Eustace was talking away in his fluent, slip-shod Italian.
    â€˜I understand almost everything,’ I heard him say. ‘The trees, hills, stars, water, I can see all. But isn’t it odd! I can’t make out men a bit. Do you know what I mean?’
    â€˜Ho capito,’ said Gennaro gravely, and took his arm off Eustace’s shoulder. But I made the new note crackle in my pocket; and he heard it. He stuck his hand out with a jerk; and the unsuspecting Eustace gripped it in his own.
    â€˜It is odd!’ Eustace went on—they were quite close now—‘It almost seems as if—as if—’
    I darted out and caught hold of his arm, and Leyland got hold of the other arm, and Mr Sandbach hung on to his feet. He gave shrill heart-piercing screams; and the white roses, which were falling early that year, descended in showers on him as we dragged him into the house.
    As soon as we entered the house he stopped shrieking; but floods of tears silently burst forth and spread over his upturned face.
    â€˜Not to my room,’ he pleaded. ‘It is so small.’
    His infinitely dolorous look filled me with strange pity, but what could I do? Besides, his window was the only one that had bars to it.
    â€˜Never mind, dear boy,’ said kind Mr Sandbach.