For the season has not been good and she has been
hauled on a dozen beaches before she could sell her cargo. The men are
all as brown as mahogany, and as lean as wolves, for it has been a
voyage with share and share alike for all the crew and they have starved
themselves to bring home more money to their wives.
Then there is some bustle and confusion, as Luigione brings the papers
ashore and friends crowd around the felucca in boats, asking for news
and all talking at once.
"We have been in your town, Ruggiero," said one of the men, looking down
into the little boat.
"I hope you gave a message from me to Don Pietro Casale," answered
Ruggiero.
"Health to us, Don Pietro is dead," said the man, "and his wife is not
likely to live long either."
"Dead, eh?" cried Bastianello. "He is gone to show the saints the nose
we gave him when we were boys."
"We can go back to Verbicaro when we please," observed Ruggiero with a
smile.
"Lend a hand on board, will you?" said the sailor.
So Ruggiero made the boat fast with the painter and both brothers
scrambled over the side of the felucca. They did not renew their
conversation concerning Teresina, and an hour or two later they went up
to the hotel to be in readiness for their masters, should the latter
wish to go out.
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