Unlucky words. He scented a trade at once. His black eyes sparkled, and his white teeth glittered in the moonlight. The rogue understood a little English, too.
"One lira, one franc, sare; magnifique."
"One franc! Quarter of a dollar for a contemptible little tooth-pick! Get out."
"Varee fine, sare; gondola, sare; tree for two lira" (holding up his fingers, and laying the merchandise on the table before me).
"No, no; too dear."
"Vat you give me for him?"
At this moment the café waiter brought me a few copper coins in change, and was profoundly grateful for two of them. I chinked the others in my hand absently.
"Give you four sous."
"Ah, no, signore" (with a deprecatory shrug); "take for half lira—ten sous."
"No; don't want it. Four sous."