If you stand well with the house you may have the honour to be
escorted by the Signora herself--handsome, dignified, genial, with a
veritable coronal of splendid grey hair--to watch the eternal bowling
in the alley back of the restaurant. I have watched them fascinated
for long periods and I have never learned what it is they are trying
to do with those big "bowling balls." They have no ninepins, so they
are not trying to make a ten-strike. Apparently, it is a game however,
for now and then a shout of triumph proclaims that someone has won. He
orders the drinks and they go at it again.
"But, what _is_ it?" I asked the Signora.
"Eh--oh--just a _Giocho di Bocca_," she returned vaguely, "a game of
bowls--how should I know?"
Beyond the bowling alley is a long, narrow yard with bushes. It would
make quite a charming summer garden with little tables for
after-dinner coffee. But the Signora says that the _Chiesa_, there at
the back of it, objects. The _Chiesa_, I think, is the Judson Memorial
Church on Washington Square.
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