The Adriatic shore could not be compared with the sea they knew, bordered as it was by Coney Island.
“No, sir-ree! Give me Coney Island, and you can have this two for a cent, Gravoosa.” And I suppose, the peninsula of Lapad also, circled by palms and olives and set in a sea of turquoise blue.
When I mentioned the guslar, one of the girls said that he “might make a hit at Coney Island as a side-show.”
“Were there many Dalmatians in America?” I asked the father.
“You bet! They have gone from along the whole —— coast, and there is one —— little town near Lucin Piccolo where there is not an able-bodied man left. They’ll all come over when they get the —— money. The more come the better for me.”
His place was the centre to which they came and from which they radiated.
“What do they do in America?” I asked.
“Oh! any old thing. It all depends. There is one back here now.”
“He’s a regular big head,” interrupted one of the girls; “thinks he’s the whole cheese. He’s a newspaper man. I suppose he’ll be on the Stradona to-night.”
Every evening after sunset, all Ragusa wakens out of its day-dreams and is on parade in the Stradona.