Orsino laughed. He did not see himself in the character of a mandolinist.
"I have not the slightest ear for music," he answered. "I would much rather learn something about business."
"It is less amusing," said Andrea Contini regretfully.
"But I am at your service. I will come to the office when work is over and we will do the accounts together. You will learn in that way very quickly."
"Thank you. I suppose we must have an office. It is necessary, is it not?"
"Indispensable—a room, a garret—anything. A habitation, a legal domicile, so to say."
"Where do you live, Signor Contini? Would not your lodging do?"
"I am afraid not, Signor Principe. At least not for the present. I am not very well lodged and the stairs are badly lighted."
"Why not here, then?" asked Orsino, suddenly growing desperately practical, for he felt unaccountably reluctant to hire an office in the city.
"We should pay no rent," said Contini. "It is an idea. But the walls are dry downstairs, and we only need a pavement, and plastering, and doors and windows, and papering and some furniture to make one of the rooms quite habitable. It is an idea, undoubtedly. Besides, it would give the house an air of being inhabited, which is valuable."