“I perfectly love to eat on an Italian train, don’t you?” said Patty, as they found their places for luncheon.
“Yes, I do,” said Flo, “except I don’t like the spaghetti and things they love to eat.”
“Oh, I do. And I’m sure when I get home I can cook macaroni in true Italian fashion, and delight all my friends.”
“It wouldn’t delight me, I hate it. But I love the fruit.” And well she might, for the rich luscious fruits of Italy are surpassed nowhere on the globe, and they are bestowed on travellers in unstinted quantities.
Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield sat at one of the tables arranged for two, while Snippy and the two girls sat at a quartette table.
As there was thus a vacant seat, another passenger was assigned to it, and to the surprise and secret glee of the girls it was one of the young Italian men they had noticed in the other car.
Flo and Patty looked down at their plates in an effort not to smile at each other, and Snippy glared at the young man as if he were an intruder.
Presently he made a civil remark in Italian, and as Snippy was able to talk fluently in that tongue, she answered him, politely, but rather shortly.
“Doesn’t he speak English at all?” said Patty, with great interest.
“No,” said Snippy, sternly, “eat your luncheon and don’t look at him.”