“Bah!” she answered, looking him over. “Give me good weight of salame and free measure of beans.”
Clearly, the weight and measure that he gave suited her, for she came every afternoon thereafter, but never when Signor Di Bello happened to be in the shop. One day he said to her:
“Every night I dream of you.”
“Ah, si?” she replied, arching her rich brows. “And every night I dream. Shall I tell you of what?”
“Of me?” breathed Bertino.
“Of you? Simpleton! I dream of getting out of this hogpen. Blood of San Gennaro! Do you think I came to America to live a life like this? Wait until I have money in the Bank of Risparmio.”
“But, signorina, I love you.”
“Love! What good is that? It may do for these animals to live on. For me, no. When I marry I shall become a grand signora.”
On the fifth day of their acquaintance she told him her troubles. Five dollars a week was all she got at La Scala, and Signor Grabbini—a man most stingy—kept back two of that for the dress, the scarlet slippers, and the pink tights. Don’t talk to her of America as a place to make money. What a pigsty was Mulberry! Her room, which she hired of Luigia the Garlic Woman, was smaller and darker than any she ever had in Naples. And what did it cost? A whole dollar every week! Five liras for a room! Merciful Madonna!
“Listen,” said Bertino, coming from behind the counter and walking with her to the door; “I want you for my wife. Marry me, and you shall live in the finest house in Mulberry—in Casa Di Bello.”