The Wheat Princess Read online

  CHAPTER VIII

  'AH, Sybert, you're just the man I wanted to see!' Melville came up thewalk of the palazzo occupied by the American ambassador as Sybert,emerging from the door, paused on the top step to draw on his gloves.

  'In that case,' the latter returned, 'it's well you didn't come fiveminutes later, or I should have been lost to the world for theafternoon. What's up?'

  'Nothing serious. Can you spare me a few moments' talk? I won't take upyour time if you are in a hurry.'

  'Not in the least. I'm entirely at your disposal. Nothing on for theafternoon, and I was preparing to loaf.'

  The two turned back into the house and crossed the hall to theambassador's private library. Melville closed the door and regarded hiscompanion a trifle quizzically. Sybert dropped into a chair, indicatedanother, and pushed a box of cigars and some matches across the table;then he looked up and caught Melville's expression.

  'Well, what's up?' he asked again.

  The consul-general selected a cigar with some deliberation, bit off theend, and regarded it critically, while his smile broadened. 'I havejust returned from the mass meeting of the foreign residents,' heremarked.

  'That should have been entertaining.'

  'It was,' he admitted. 'There was some spirited discussion as to thebest way of suppressing the riots.'

  'And how did they decide to do it?'

  'They have appointed a committee.'

  'Of course a committee!' Sybert laughed. 'And what is the committee todo? Wait on the ministers and invite them to reconstruct their morals?Ask the King to spend a little less money on the soldiers' uniforms anda little more on their rations?'

  'The Committee,' said Melville, 'is to raise money for food, and toassist the government as far as possible in quieting the people andsuppressing the agitators.'

  'Ah!' breathed Sybert.

  'And,' he added, with his eye on the young man, 'I have the honour ofinforming you that you were made chairman.'

  'Oh, the devil!'

  'This is not an official notification,' he pursued blandly; 'but Ithought you'd like to hear the news.'

  'Who's at the bottom of this? Why, in heaven's name, didn't you stopthem?'

  'I couldn't very well; I was chairman of the meeting.'

  Sybert's usual easy nonchalance had vanished. He rose to his feet andtook one or two turns about the room.

  'I don't see why I should be shoved into it--I wish some of theseofficious fools would go back home, where they belong. I won't serve onany such committee; I'll be hanged if I will! I'll resign.'

  'Nonsense, Sybert; you can't do that. It would be too marked. Peoplewould think you had some reason for not wanting to serve. It was verynatural that your name should have occurred for the position; you havelived in Rome longer than most of us, and are supposed to understandthe conditions and to be interested in good government.'

  'It puts me in a mighty queer position.'

  'I don't see why.' The elder man's tone had grown cool. 'They naturallytook it for granted that you, as well as the rest of us, would want tohave the riots suppressed and choke off any latent tendencies towardrevolution in this precious populace.'

  'It was the work of a lot of damned busybodies who wanted to see what Iwould do.'

  Melville suppressed a momentary smile. 'However,' he remarked, 'I seeno reason why you should be so reluctant about serving in a goodcause--I don't suppose you wish to see a revolution any more than therest of us.'

  'Heavens, no! It wouldn't do any good; the government's got the army toback it; the revolutionists would only be sent to the galleys for theirtrouble, and the police oppression would be worse than ever.'

  He swung up and down the room a couple of times, and then pausing withhis hands in his pockets, stared moodily out of the window. Melvillesmoked and watched him, a shade of uneasiness in his glance. Just whatposition Laurence Sybert occupied in Rome--what unofficial position,that is--was a mystery to the most of his friends. Melville understoodhim as well as any one, with the exception of Howard Copley; but evenhe was at times quite unprepared for the intimate knowledge Sybertdisplayed in affairs which, on the surface, did not concern him. Sybertwas distinctly not a babbler, and this tendency toward beingclose-mouthed had given rise to a vast amount of speculative interestin his movements. He carried the reputation, among the foreignresidents, of knowing more about Italian politics than the premierhimself; and he further carried the reputation--whether deserved ornot--of mixing rather more deeply than was wise in the darkundercurrent of the government.

  And this particular spring the undercurrent was unusually dark anddangerously swift. Young Italy had been sowing wild oats, and the cropwas ripening fast. It was a period of anxiety and disappointment forthose who had watched the country's brave struggle for unity andindependence thirty years before. Victor Emmanuel, Cavour, andGaribaldi had passed away; the patriots had retired and the politicianshad come in. A long period of over-speculation, of dishonesty andincompetence, of wild building schemes and crushing taxes, had broughtthe country's credit to the lowest possible ebb. A series ofdisgraceful bank scandals, involving men highest in the government, hadshaken the confidence of the people. The failure of the Italian colonyin Africa, and the heart-rending campaign against King Menelik and hisdervishes, with thousands of wounded conscripts sent back to theirhomes, had carried the discontent to every corner of the kingdom. Andfast on the heels of this disaster had come a failure in the wheatcrop, with all its attendant horrors; while simultaneously the cornerin the American market was forcing up the price of foreign wheat totwice its normal value.

  It was a time when priests were recalling to the peasants the wrongsthe church had suffered; a time when the socialist presses were turningout pamphlets containing plain truths plainly stated; a time wheninvestors refused to invest in government bonds, and even Italianstatesmen were beginning to look grave.

  To the casual eyes of tourists the country was still as picturesquely,raggedly gay as ever. There were perhaps more beggars on the churchsteps, and their appeal for bread was a trifle more insistent; but forpeople interested only in Italy's galleries and ruins and shops thechanges were not marked. But those who did understand, who cared forthe future of the nation, who saw the seething below the surface, werepassing through a phase of disillusionment and doubt. And LaurenceSybert was one who both understood and cared. He saw the direction inwhich the country was drifting even better perhaps than the Italiansthemselves. He looked on in a detached, more remote fashion, not soswept by the current as those who were in the stream. But if he weredetached in fact--by accident of his American parentage andcitizenship--in feelings he was with the Italians heart and soul.

  The consul-general remained some minutes silently studying the youngerman's expressive back--irritation, obstinacy, something stronger,appeared in every line of his squared shoulders--then he rose andwalked across to the window.

  'See here, Sybert,' he said bluntly, 'I'm your friend, and I don't wantto see you doing anything foolish. I know where your sympathies are;and if the rest of us looked into the matter with our eyes open, it'spossible ours would be on the same side. But that's neither here northere; we couldn't do any good, and you can't, either. You must thinkof your own position--you are secretary of the American Embassy andnephew of the ambassador. In common decency it won't do to exhibit toomuch sympathy with the enemies of the Italian government. You sayyourself that you don't want to see a revolution. Then it's your duty,in the interests of law and order, to do all you can to suppress it.'

  'Oh, I'm willing to do all I can toward relieving the suffering andquieting the people; but when it comes to playing the police spy andgetting these poor devils jailed for twenty years because they'veshouted, "Down with Savoy!" I refuse.'

  Melville shrugged. 'That part of the business can be left to the secretpolice; they're capable of handling it.'

  'I don't doubt that,' Sybert growled.

  'Your business is merely to aid
in pacifying the people and to raisesubscriptions for buying food. You are in with the wealthy foreigners,and can get money out of them easier than most.'

  'I suppose that means I am to bleed Copley?'

  'I dare say he'll be willing enough to give; it's in his line. Ofcourse he's a friend, and I don't like to say anything. I know he hadnothing to do with getting up the wheat deal; but it's all in thefamily, and he won't lose by it. The corner is playing the deuce withItaly, and it's his place to help a bit.'

  'What is playing the deuce with Italy is an extravagant government andcrushing taxes and dead industries. The wheat famine is bad enough; butthat isn't the main trouble, and you know it as well as I do.'

  'The main trouble,' his companion broke in sharply, 'is the fact thatthe priests and the anarchists and the socialists and every other sortof meddling malcontent keep things so stirred up that the government isforced into the stand it takes.'

  Sybert whirled around from the window and faced him with black browsand a sudden flaring of passion in his eyes. He opened his mouth tospeak, and then controlled himself and went on in a quiet,half-sneering tone--

  'I suppose the socialists and priests and the rest of your malcontentsforced our late premier into office and kept him there. I suppose theyyoked Italy with the Triple Alliance and drove the soldiers intoAbyssinia to be butchered like hogs. I suppose they were at the bottomof the bank scandals, and put the charity money into official pockets,and let fifteen thousand peasants go mad with hunger last year--fifteenthousand!----' His voice suddenly broke, and he half-turned away. 'GoodLord, Melville, the poverty in Italy is something appalling!'

  'Yes, I dare say it is--but, just the same, that's only one side of thequestion. The country is new, and you can't expect it to develop alongevery line at once. The government has committed some very naturalblunders, but at the same time it has accomplished a vast amount ofgood. It has united a lot of chaotic states, with different traditionsand different aims, into one organic whole; it has built up a modernnation, with all the machinery of modern civilization, in anincalculably short time. Of course the people have had to pay for itwith a good many deprivations--in every great political change thereare those who suffer; it's inevitable. But the suffering is onlytemporary, and the good is permanent. You've been keeping your eyes soclosely on passing events that you're in danger of losing yourperspective.'

  Sybert shrugged his shoulders, with a quick resumption of his usualindifference.

  'We've had twenty-five years of United Italy, and what has itaccomplished?' he demanded. 'It's built up one of the finest standingarmies in Europe, if you like; a lot of railroads it didn't need; someaqueducts and water-works, and a postal and telegraph system. It haserected any number of gigantic public buildings, of theatres andarcades and statues of Victor Emmanuel II; but what has it done for thepoor people beyond taxing them to pay for these things? What has itdone for Sicily and Sardinia, for the pellagra victims of the north,for the half-starved peasants of the Agra Romana? Why does Sicily holdthe primacy of crime in Europe; why has emigration reached two hundredthousand a year? Parliament votes five million lire for a palace ofjustice, and lets a man be murdered in prison by his keepers withoutthe show of a trial. The government supports plenty of universities forthe sons of the rich, but where are the elementary schools for thepeasants? Certainly Italy's a Great Power--if that's all you want--andher people can take their choice between emigrating and starving.'

  'Yes, it's bad, I know; but that it's quite as bad as you would have usbelieve, I doubt. You're a pessimist by conviction, Sybert. You won'tlook at the silver linings.'

  'The silver linings are pretty thin,' he retorted. 'Italian politicshave changed since the days of Victor Emmanuel and Cavour.'

  'That's only natural. You could scarcely expect any nation to keep upsuch a high pitch of patriotism as went to the making of UnitedItaly--the country's settled down a bit, but the elements of strengthare still there.'

  'The country's settled down a good bit,' he agreed. 'Oh, yes, I believemyself--at least I hope--that it's only a passing phase. The Italianpeople have too much inherent strength to allow themselves to bemastered long by corrupt politicians. But that the country is in prettylow water now, and that the breakers are not far ahead, no one with hiseyes open can doubt. The parliament is wasteful and senseless anddishonest, the taxes are crushing, the public debt is enormous, thecurrency is debased. If such a government can't take care of itself, Idon't see that it's the business of foreigners to help it.'

  'That is just the point, Sybert. The government can take care of itselfand it will. The foreigners, out of common humanity, ought to help thepeople as much as they can.'

  Sybert appeared to study Melville's face for a few moments; then hedropped his eyes and examined the floor.

  'This is a time for those in power to choose their way very carefully.There are a good many discontented people, and the government is goingto have more of a pull than you think to hold its own--there'srevolution in the air.'

  Melville faced him squarely.

  'For goodness' sake, Sybert, I don't know how much influence you have,or anything about it, but do what you can to keep things quiet. Ofcourse the government has made mistakes--as what government has not?But until there's something better to be substituted there's no usekicking. Plainly, the people are too ignorant to govern themselves, andthe House of Savoy is the only means of salvation.'

  Sybert waved his hand impatiently.

  'I haven't been trying to undermine the government, I assure you. Iknow well enough that for a good many years to come Italy won't haveanything better to offer, and all my influence with the Italians--whichnaturally isn't much--has been advice of the same nature. I know verywell that if any radical change were attempted, only anarchy wouldresult; so I counsel these poor starving beggars "patience" like askulking coward.'

  'Very well; I don't see then why you have any objection to keeping onwith your counsel, and at the same time give them something to eat.'

  'It's the looks of the thing--standing up openly on the side of theauthorities when I'm not with them in sympathy.'

  'It's a long sight better for a person in your position than standingup openly against the authorities.'

  'Oh, as for that, I'm thinking of resigning from the legation, and thenI'll be free to do as I please.'

  Melville laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

  'Sybert, you may resign from the legation, but you're still youruncle's nephew. You can't resign from that. Whatever you did would castdiscredit on him. He's an old man, and he's fond of you. Don't be afool. An American has no business mixing up in these Italian broils;Italy must work out her own salvation without the help of foreigners.Garibaldi was right--"_Italia fara da se_."'

  '"_Italia fara da se_,"' he repeated. 'I suppose it's true enough.Italy must in the end do for herself, and no outsider can be of anyhelp--but I shall at least have tried.'

  'My dear fellow, if you will let me speak plainly, the best thing youcan do for yourself and your family, for America and Italy, is, as yousay, to resign from the legation--and go home.'

  'Go home!' Sybert raised his head, with a little laugh, but with aflash underneath of the real self which he kept so carefully hiddenfrom the world. 'I was born in Italy; I was brought up here, just aslittle Gerald Copley is being brought up. I have lived here all mylife, except for half a dozen years or so while I was being educated.All my interests, all my sympathies, are in Italy, and you ask me to_go home_! I have no other home to go to. If you take Italy away fromme, I'm a man without a country.'

  'I'm in earnest, Sybert. Whether you like it or not, you're anAmerican, and you can't get away from it if you live here a hundredyears. You may talk Italian and look Italian, but you cannot _be_Italian. A man's nationality lies deeper than all externals. You're anAmerican through and through, and it's a pity you can't be a littleproud of the fact. The only way in which there's going to be anyprogress in the world for a good long time to come i
s for Italians tocare for Italy and Americans for America. We aren't ready just yet todo away with national boundaries; and if we were, we should run upagainst racial boundaries, which are still more unchangeable. Americais quite as good a country to care about as Italy--there are some whothink it's better; it depends on the point of view.'

  'Oh, that's true enough,' Sybert returned, with a short laugh.'Everything in the world depends on one's point of view; the worstplace is all right if you only choose to think so. I dare say hellwould be pleasurable enough to a salamander, but the point is--I'm nota salamander.'

  Melville shrugged his shoulders helplessly and turned back to his seat.

  'There's no use arguing with you, I know that. You're wasting yourability where it isn't appreciated, but I suppose it's nobody'sbusiness but your own. Some day you'll see the truth yourself; and Ihope it won't be too late. But now as to this committee business--foryour uncle's sake you ought to carry it through. I will tell youfrankly--I imagine it isn't news--that the Italian government has itseye on you; and if you manage to get yourself arrested, rightly orwrongly, for stirring up sedition, it will make an ugly story in thepapers. The editor and staff of the _Grido del Popolo_ were arrestedthis morning. The police are opening telegrams and letters and watchingsuspicious persons. You'd better step carefully.'

  Sybert laughed, with a gesture of dissent. 'There's no danger about me.The enthusiastic head of the Foreign Relief Committee is safe fromgovernment persecution.'

  'You'll act then?'

  'Oh, I don't know--I'll think it over. It's a deuced hole to have gotinto; though I suppose it is, as you say, about the only way to help.No doubt I can raise money and distribute bread as well as another.'

  'Appoint Copley on a sub-committee. He'll be glad to give.'

  'I don't like to ask him. He doesn't go in for alms; he's all forfuture--though in a time like this----'

  'In a time like this we're all willing to step aside a bit. I'm gladyou've decided to work on the side of the government. It is, as thingsstand, the only sensible thing to do.'

  'I haven't decided yet. And I do not, as I told you before, care a rapwhat becomes of the government. It's the people I'm helping.'

  'It amounts to the same thing.'

  'Not in Italy.'

  'Oh, very well. You're incorrigible. At least keep your opinions toyourself.'

  'I'm not likely to shout them abroad under the present regime. And asto this infernal committee--oh, well, I'll think about it.'

  'Very well; think favourably. It's the only way to help, remember--andvery good policy into the bargain. Some day, my boy, maybe you'll growsensible. Good-bye.'

  Sybert paced up and down the room for five or ten minutes afterMelville had left, and then picked up his hat and started out again.Turning toward the Piazza Barberini, he strode along, scowlingunconsciously at the passers-by. He bowed mechanically to the peoplewho bowed to him. Along the Corso he met the procession of carriagesgoing toward the Pincio. Ladies nodded graciously; they evenhalf-turned to look after him. But he was quite unaware of it; histhoughts were not with the portion of Roman society which rode incarriages. He traversed the Corso and plunged into the tangle of moreor less dirty streets on the left bank of the Tiber. Here the crowdswho elbowed their way along the narrow sidewalks were more poorlydressed. After some twenty minutes' walking he turned into a narrowstreet in the region of the grimy ruins of the theatre of Marcellus,and paused before the doorway of a wine-shop which bore upon its frontthe ambitious title, _'Osteria del Popolo Italiano_--TarquinioPaterno.' With a barely perceptible glance over his shoulder, hestepped into the dingy little cafe which opened from the street. Thefront room, with its square wooden tables and stiff-backed chairs, wasempty, except for Madame Tarquinio Paterno, who was sweeping the floor.Sybert nodded to her, and crossing the room to the rear door, whichopened into the _cucina_, knocked twice. The door opened a crack forpurposes of examination, and then was thrown wide to admit him.

  The room which was revealed was a stone-walled kitchen, lighted in therear by a small-paned window opening on to a gloomy court-yard.'Lighted' is scarcely the word to use, for between the dirt on thepanes and the dimness of the court, very little daylight struggled in.But the interior was not dreary. A charcoal fire blazing on the highstone hearth shot up fiercely every now and then, throwing grotesquehigh lights on the faces of the men grouped about the room.

  Sybert paused on the threshold and glanced about from face to face.Three or four men were sitting on low benches about a long table,drinking wine and talking. The one who was in the act of speaking asSybert appeared in the door paused with his mouth still open. Theothers, recognizing him, however, called out a cordial '_Buona sera_,Signor Siberti,' while Tarquinio hastened to place a chair and bring atall rush-covered flask of red Frascati wine. Sybert returned theirsalutations, and sat down with a glance of inquiry at the excitedstranger. Tarquinio ceremoniously presented him as Girolamo Mendamo ofNaples, and he ended his introduction with the assurance, 'Have nofear; he is a good fellow and one of us,' and left it to be conjecturedas to whether the compliment referred to Sybert or the Neapolitan. Thelatter took it to refer to Sybert, and after a momentary hesitationpicked up his discourse where he had dropped it.

  'Ah, and when the poor fishermen are sickening for a little salt andtry to get it from the sea water without paying, what do the police do?They throw them into prison. The Camorra used to protect people fromthe police, but now the Camorra no longer dares to lift its head andthe people have no protectors. It used to be that when the policewanted more money it satisfied them to raise the taxes, but now theymust raise the price of bread and macaroni as well.'

  He had commenced in a low tone, but as he proceeded his voice rosehigher and higher.

  'And last week a great crowd broke open the bakeries and carried offthe flour, and the police were frightened and put down the price--butnot enough. Then the people threatened again, and _ecco!_ all the taxwas taken off. That is the way to deal with the police; they arecowards, and it is only fear that makes them just.'

  The man laughed hoarsely and looked around for approval. The othersnodded.

  '_Gia_, he speaks the truth. It is only fear that makes them just.'

  'They are cowards--cowards,' repeated the Neapolitan. 'If all thepeople in every city of Italy would do the same, there would soon be nomore taxes and no more police.'

  'I am afraid that you are mistaken there, my friend,' Sybert broke in.'There will always be taxes and always be police. But it's true, as yousay, that the taxes are too heavy and the police are unjust. The timehasn't come, though, when you can gain anything by rioting andrevolutions. The government's backed by the army, and it's too strongfor you. You may possibly frighten it into lowering the wheat tax for atime, but it will be at a mighty heavy cost to the ones who are foundout.'

  'Who are you?' the man demanded suspiciously.

  'I am an American who would like to see Italy as happy and prosperousand well governed as the United States.' Sybert smiled inwardly at theideal he was holding up.

  'Ah--you're a spy!' the man cried, with a quick scowl.

  'I am so far from being a spy that I have come to warn you that, if youdon't want to spend the next few years of your lives in prison, youmust be very careful to cheer the House of Savoy on the first of May.The police spies are keeping both eyes open just now.'

  The others nodded their heads pacifically, but the Neapolitan stillscowled. He suddenly leaned forward across the table and scanned Sybertwith eyes that glittered fiercely in the firelight. Then he burst outagain in low guttural tones--

  'It is easy for you to talk, Signor Whatever-your-name-is. You havebread to eat. But if you worked all day from sunrise to sunset--workeduntil you grew so tired you couldn't sleep, and then got up and workedagain--and then if the police came and took away all the money in taxesand didn't even leave enough to buy your family food, and the work gaveout so you must either steal or die, and you couldn't find anything tosteal--then y
ou would sing another song. Wait, wait, you say. It'salways wait. Will better times ever come if we sit down and wait forthem? Who will give us the better times? The King, perhaps? Umberto?'

  The man broke off with a harsh laugh.

  'Ah--we shall die waiting, and our children after us. And when we aredead the good God will keep us waiting outside of paradise becausethere is no money to pay for masses. No one cares for those who do notcare for themselves. It's the poor people, who haven't enough to eat,who buy the gold braid on the King's clothes and pay for the carriagesof his ministers. In my opinion, we would do better to buy bread forour children first.'

  Sybert looked back in the man's burning face, and his own caught fire.He knew that every word he said was true, and he knew how hopeless washis remedy. What could these passionate, ignorant peasants, blazingwith rage, do with power if they had it? Worse than nothing. Their owncondition would only be rendered more desperate than ever. He glancedabout the table from one face to another. They were all leaningforward, waiting for his answer. The fierce eagerness in their eyes wascontagious. A sudden wave of hopeless pity for them swept him off hisfeet, and for a moment he lost himself.

  'My God! men,' he burst out, 'I know it's true. I know you're starvingwhile others spend your money. There's no justice for you, and therenever will be. The only thing I want in the world is to see Italyhappy. I am as ready to die for it as you are, but what can I do? Whatcan any one do? The soldiers are stronger than we are, and if we raiseour hands they will shoot us down like dogs, and there it will end.' Hepaused with a deep breath, and went on in a quieter tone. 'Patience ispoor food to offer to starving men, but it's the one hope now for youand for Italy. The only thing you can do is to go to the polls and votefor honest ministers.'

  'Ministers are all alike,' said one.

  'And who will feed us while we are waiting for election day?' askedanother, who had been listening silently.

  The question was unanswerable, and Sybert sat frowning down at thetable without speaking. The Neapolitan presently broke in again. Therewas something electric about his words and the force behind them. Everyone bent forward to listen.

  'Who is the King?' he demanded. 'He is only a man. So am I a man. Thenwhat makes him so different from me? They may shoot me down if theylike, but first I have work to do. The King shall know me before I die.And he is not all,' he added darkly. 'Do you know why the wheat's soscarce? Because of a _forestiere_ here in Rome--Signor Copli--he thatput down the Camorra in Naples and throws the beggars into prison.'

  An angry mutter ran around the room.

  'You're mistaken there,' Sybert interrupted. 'It's not this SignorCopli who bought the wheat; it's his brother in America. This SignorCopli is the friend of the poor people. Many, many thousand lire hegives away every year, and no one knows about it.'

  A more friendly murmur arose, but the Neapolitan was still unconvinced.

  'It is the same Signor Copli,' he affirmed stubbornly. 'He hides thewheat in America, where he thinks no one will know about it. And then,after stealing it all from the mouths of the poor, he gives a littleback with a great show, thinking to blind us. But we know. The _Gridodel Popolo_ printed it out in black and white for all who can to read.'

  'And the _Grido del Popolo_ was stopped this morning and the editor putin jail for printing lies,' said Sybert sharply.

  'Ah, you're a police spy! You pretend to be for us to make us talk.'His hand half instinctively went to his belt.

  Sybert rose to his feet and dropped his hand roughly on the man'sshoulder. 'The best thing you can do for your country is to put thatstiletto into the fire.' He turned aside with an expression of disgustand tossed some silver coins on the table in payment for the wine. Thenpausing a moment, he glanced about the circle of swarthy faces.Gradually his expression softened. 'I've tried to warn you. The policeare on the watch, and I should advise you to stick pretty closely toyour homes and not mix up in any riots. I will do what I can to getfood and money for the poor people--I know of no other way to help.Heaven knows I would do it if I could!'

  He nodded to them, and motioning Tarquinio to follow, passed into thefront room. Closing the door behind them, he turned to the innkeeper.

  'Tarquinio, I think you had better go up into the hills and attend toyour vineyard for a few weeks.'

  The young Italian's face was the picture of dismay. 'But the _osteria_,Signor Siberti; who will manage that?'

  'Your wife can look after it. Let it be given out that you are tendingvines in the Sabine hills. That is the safest profession these days.The police will be paying you a visit before long if I am not greatlymistaken--and whatever you do, keep out fellows like that Neapolitan.'

  Tarquinio's face darkened with a quick look of suspicion. 'I am but apoor innkeeper, Signor Siberti. I must welcome those who come.'

  Sybert shrugged. 'I was merely speaking for your own safety. Suchguests are dangerous. _Addio._' He turned toward the door, and thenturned back a moment. 'Take my advice, Tarquinio, and visit yourvineyard.'

  Tarquinio followed him to the threshold, and bidding him a volublegood-bye in the face of the world, begged the signor Americano tohonour his humble _osteria_ again; so that any chance passer-by mightregard the gentleman as but a casual visitor. Sybert smiled at thesimple strategy. An Italian loves a plot better than his dinner, and isnever happier than when engaged in an imaginary intrigue. But in thiscase it occurred to him that his host's caution might not be out ofplace; and he fervently assured Tarquinio that the wine had beenexcellent, and that in the future he would send his friends to the_Osteria del Popolo Italiano_.