"It is always raining here," Giovanni remarked sadly.
"Not always; there are pleasant days in the spring and summer. It is because this is not Italy. The Hollander wonders how any reasonable being can dwell in a country where they do not drink gin. It's home, Giovanni; rain pelts you from a different angle here. There is nothing more; you may go. It is two o'clock, and you are dead for sleep."
But Giovanni only bowed; he did not stir.
"Well?" inquired his master.
"It is seven years now, signore."
"So it is; seven this coming April."
"I am now a citizen of this country; I obey its laws; I vote."
"Yes, Giovanni, you are an American citizen, and you should be proud of it."
Giovanni smiled. "I may return to my good Italia without danger."
"That depends. If you do not run across any official who recognizes you."