“To me! Excuse me; keep her for yourself. That is an affair I shall attend to when the time comes.”
“But in Mulberry you can not get what I shall bring you from Italy.”
“What is that?”
“A wife that is good enough for you and Casa Di Bello.”
“Bah! What do you tell me?” he growled walking to the door. “Talk to me about wives! They are as thick as the sparrows in Paradise, and just as hungry. Good, fine wives, too.” He dropped into the chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, and extended his little legs. “Who is she?” he asked after a while, twirling his huge mustache.
“Marianna. Don’t you remember her? Bertino’s foster sister. A fine young girl; no bad habits and sound in health.”
“What age?”
“Eighteen.”
“You’d better buy your passage ticket,” he said, “if you wish to go on to-morrow’s ship.”