"Biglietti," explained Victoria, as they paused at the gangway. "Tickets--you've got them, Mr. Macjean."
"Yes, here they are," said Angus, and, handing them to the officer in charge, they went ashore.
"What little men," said Victoria, catching sight of some of the military, "they look like tin soldiers."
"They don't seem very well fed," observed Mrs. Trubbles meditatively; "I don't think the food is good--very bad quality, I'm afraid. Dear me, there's a fountain."
"It's more like a squirt," said Otterburn laughing.
"Plenty of water about this place," pursued Mrs. Trubbles, putting up her eyeglass, "but I don't think these foreigners make enough use of it. Oh, dear! dear! what a dreadful smell, they really ought to look after the drains better. I'm so afraid of typhoid. Mr. Macjean, would you mind smoking?--it's safer."
Mr. Macjean was only too delighted, and having lighted a cigarette, was soon blowing wreaths of smoke as they all walked up one of the narrow streets, on their way to the Duomo.
"We must do the church, you know," remarked Angus with great gravity, "it's the big lion of Como--built by some one called Roderer or Rodari--I'm not certain about the name. Sounds like a champagne brand, doesn't it? It was built somewhere about the thirteenth or fourteenth century--I'm not sure which."
"You don't seem very sure of anything beyond the fact that there is a church," said Miss Sheldon disparagingly, "and as it's straight before you, we can be certain it exists. They say it's all built of white marble."
"It doesn't look like it then," remarked Mrs. Trubbles emphatically, "a good coat of paint wouldn't hurt it."