"That's howdy do," said O'Mally. "How is your wife?"
"That ees Come sta vostra!"
Pause.
"Che tempo fa?" said Pietro suddenly.
O'Mally frowned and jammed down the coal in his pipe. "Who—no, how!—is the weather. Who can say? Che lo sa?"
"Bene!"
Solemnly they went over the same ground. To be sure, O'Mally always failed to get the right twist to the final vowels, but he could make himself understood, and that was the main thing. It was a rare moment to him at night to strike Smith dumb by asking in Italian for a match, a cigar, or a book. Smith wondered how he did it; but when asked to join the primary class at the porter's lodge, he always excused himself by saying that he was deep in the writing of a comedy, which was true. If there was a play in one's system, the Villa Ariadne was sure to bring it out.
Having finished the lesson for that day, they shared the flask of wine.
"It is old, Pietro," said O'Mally.
"Vecchio, anticato," responded Pietro with grave satisfaction.