"'Who is that man, then?' I asked the sailor curtly.
"'It is the Camorrista, signor—it is the Camorra man, sir,' he answered, in matter-of-fact tones, as he lifted my luggage into a carriage.
"I began to wonder.
"My carriage rattled over the stones and set me down in my hotel. Another stalwart individual was waiting there. He, too, was an ornamental person; he wore wide velvet breeches with gold lace upon them, a loose white shirt, a red sash, and a gaudy silk handkerchief knotted over his head. And he, too, reached out his hand to claim a coin which my driver dropped into his palm.
"'Who is that man?' I asked again, and got the same answer as before—
"'It is the Camorrista, signor—it is the Camorra man.'
"'And why do you give him money?' I inquired further.
"'Because he demands it, signor,' the man replied; and he jumped on to his box and drove away before I had time to pursue the subject any further.
"I went on wondering.
"Evidently this was a strange country to which I had come—a country in which you had only to demand money in the name of a mysterious society in order to obtain it. Would people also give money to me, in case of need, if I also dressed gaudily and stepped forward with a bold address, saying 'I am the Camorra man'? The question furnished food for thought.