They talked loud and with a certain air of boasting, they were
rough, indeed, but not strongly built nor naturally easy in their
movements as sailors are. Their eyes were restless and fiery, but the
glance was neither keen nor direct. Altogether they contrasted oddly
with Don Antonino, the old boatswain. This part of Calabria does not
breed genuine sea folk.
Antonino took no notice of the boys as they stood outside the door, but
went quietly on with his work, measuring quart after quart of wine and
pouring it into the barrel.
"If it were a keg, I could carry it for him," said Ruggiero, "but I
cannot lift a barrel yet."
"We could roll it, together," suggested Sebastiano thoughtfully.
Presently Don Antonino finished his job and bunged the barrel with a
cork and a bit of old sailcloth. Then he looked up and stood still. The
boys were not quite sure whether he was watching them or not, for it was
already dusk. His wife lit a small German petroleum lamp and hung it in
the middle of the room, and then went to the fireplace in the dark
corner where something was cooking. One of the guests shouted to
Antonino.
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