As they returned to the main room the attendant departed and polite gestures demanded that Chick and Cynthia should take chairs and wait. An air of expectancy hung above the little room. Obviously the choicest gem of the collection, something too valuable to be left with the other articles had been sent for.
“Do you think they’ve sent to the bank?” asked Cynthia.
Chick brightened at the suggestion, brightened until the door swung open again. There entered behind the attendant a woman, slatternly, down at heels, very cross and carrying a basket on her arm. Slowly, reluctantly she advanced to the desk, lifted the cover of the basket. At the summons of the sergeant Chick appeared beside her. With a wild burst Dum and Dee grabbed the basket from the woman, thrust it into Chick’s reluctant arms. Whereat the basket, considerably disturbed, let out a long neck, green mottled with brown feathers, a wide open yellow beak, an indignant eye and a stiffly upstanding comb of violent red. Loudly the occupant of the basket protested with a violent “... C ck ... a ... doo ... dle ... do!”
Chick nearly dropped the basket.
Cynthia, nearly helpless with laughter, had fallen into a chair and, with face buried in her handkerchief, could only indulge in what Dum and Dee must surely have considered tears of uncontrolled joy at this return of her lost property. Sympathetic murmurs, croonings of consolation echoed about the room. Even the rather hard faced woman was touched. Chick stood stupidly staring.
The hardest part of the day came when Cynthia, drying her streaming eyes, was forced into sufficient sobriety and Italian to explain that indeed and indeed the rooster, and it was a beautiful rooster, oh a magnificent rooster, was not theirs. Was not at all what they sought.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Like a popgun, Cynthia shot out violent negatives. And at last she had made it clear. Almost with joy the woman received back the cherished rooster from Chick’s relieved embrace. Almost haughtily they were shown to the door, sent, with an air of extreme disapproval, upon their way.
Outside in the sunlight Cynthia was almost surprised to find it was the same day, and Chick pulled down his coat, let out a great puff of a sigh.
After that first burst of laughter Cynthia had managed to get control of herself, but she wasn’t sure how long this would last. She must get somewhere, anywhere, and have it all out with Chick. Meekly she took his arm, let him lead her along the quay, through small streets toward the Piazza San Marco. She glanced upward. Chick was being very masculine, very stern, one might almost think, unforgiving.
In silence they traversed the small streets. Well, if Chick was going to be stuffy! ... But he couldn’t be, he simply couldn’t be. And whose beastly old bundle was it anyway? She didn’t go about leaving things in gondolas.