“I love them, pinches and all,” said Ora, warmly. “They are like children in one way, and yet they really know how to rest and enjoy themselves, which is more than our men ever do. Even the working-class enjoys life over here. I wonder why they emigrate?”
They had passed round the corner of the arcade and entered the Piazza Defarrari, working their way toward the Via Roma. Ora stopped before one of the cantinas behind the statue of Garibaldi. “Look at those men drinking their cheap wine and gossipping. They look as if they hadn’t a care in the world.”
“Give me the hustling American,” said Ida contemptuously. “I don’t call this life. They’re just drifting along waiting for the Angel Gabriel to blow his trump. What makes them so lazy and contented? They know they can go just so far over here and no farther. Ancient history made classes and masses, and while they have fun, some of them, thinking they’re socialists, they know that most of them will stay put. But the only real fun in life is getting ahead of the next fellow and knowing that your chance is as good as any.”
“What a truly American sentiment!”
“I’m American, all right, and that’s the reason I want to get back to Butte, where things hum every minute, and there’s no real poverty. Fancy calling these left-overs ‘middle-class’ like our miners. Every one of those looks forward to being President of Amalgamated one of these days, or striking it rich in the mountains.”
“There are different varieties of happiness, fortunately for several billions that are seeking it.”
“Do you know,” said Ida, abruptly, as they turned into the Galleria Mazzini from the Via Roma, “it’s queer, but I feel more at home in Italy than I have anywhere else over here, although I had a really better time in England and Germany and Austria. I don’t hit it off much with Italians, but—well—I have a more settled-down feeling.”
“That’s odd!”
“Why?”
“Oh, I’ve been romancing about you a bit, fancying you a reincarnation of one of those fascinating abominable women of the Renaissance, who had innumerable lovers and poisoned their husbands, or rivals. You would look quite wonderful in those long velvet or brocaded gowns, with sleeves that come down over the hands, and pearls twined in your hair.”