"Yes, yes," cried half a dozen voices; "make it fifty lire! We are not lazagnoni. We have money—plenty of it. See, Signore Castellani"—and half a dozen palms covered with small coin were extended.
"I can choose, then, the kind of money and the sum," continued Luigi.
"Yes, gold, silver, paper—anything you want!"
"Then, gentle Nicolletti," said Luigi, in his softest and most courteous voice, "if you will permit me, I will choose the poor man's money. Match this, Signore Francesco," and he threw a copper soldo (a coin the size and thickness of an English penny) upon the table. "It is yours if you win."
A roar of laughter greeted the announcement. Francesco sprang to his feet.
"I am not here to be made a fool of! I don't bet with soldi! I throw them to beggars!" he cried, angrily.
"Pardon me, signore. Was it not agreed that I had the choice?"
Some muttering was heard at this, but no one answered.
"Let us see your soldo, then, signore," continued Luigi. "The race is the thing, not the money. A soldo is as good as a gold piece with which to back one's opinions. Come, I am waiting."