Francis rowed, like Giuseppi, in his shirt, and in the darkness they were often taken for a pair-oared gondola on the lookout for a fare. Francis had sometimes accepted the offer, because it was an amusement to see where the passenger wished to go--to guess whether he was a lover hastening to keep an appointment, a gambler on a visit to some quiet locality, where high play went on unknown to the authorities, or simply one who had by some error missed his own gondola, and was anxious to return home. It made no difference to him which way he rowed. It was always possible that some adventure was to be met with, and the fare paid was a not unwelcome addition to Giuseppi's funds.
"Yes, we may as well take him," he replied to Giuseppi's question.
"You are in no hurry to get to bed, I suppose?" the man who had hailed them said as the boat drew up against the wall of the canal.
"It does not make much difference to us, if we are well paid, to keep awake," Giuseppi said.
Upon such occasions he was always the spokesman.
"You know San Nicolo?"
"Yes, I know it," Giuseppi said; "but it is a long row--six miles, if it's a foot."
"You will have to wait there for an hour or two, but I will give you half a ducat for your night's work."
"What do you say, partner?" Giuseppi asked Francis.
"We may as well go," the lad replied after a moment's pause.