“Poor men have no choice!” he muttered. “Bare shoulders in winter, the cast-off winter coat of an Englishman in summer!”
The soiled and tattered old coat was tossed aside, falling uncomfortably close to Natale’s feet, but he did not dare to push it away with disdainful touch. The peddler’s meal now came to an end, the remains of the sausage were gathered up with the cruel-looking knife and laid aside with the handkerchief, after which the peddler, with a satisfied grunt, sprawled himself on his side—to sleep, as Natale devoutly hoped.
But not quite yet was the man ready for sleep. Reaching for his pack, with a lazy movement from where he lay, he unstrapped it and drew from among the coarse laces and horn buttons inside a flat bottle, which he uncorked and turned up to his lips. As the liquor gurgled down his throat and its strong odor tainted the air, Natale let his eyes fall to the uncomely garment lying within touch of his fingers.
Then the boy’s heart leaped into his throat, and it seemed as if he would suffocate where he sat. He dared not move, and bravely he looked away from the thing which lay within such easy reach of his longing hands, half-in, half-out of the fellow’s old coat pocket.
If only the peddling thief would go off into a drunken sleep!
For there, close by, lay Giovanni’s old pocketbook of stamped Spanish leather, stained and battered, as Natale had always known it!
Who could tell whether any money still remained in it? There was nothing to do but wait till the man should go to sleep, and then, stealthily drawing the pocketbook away from the overcoat, speed down the road to a safe distance and find out all about it.
He had not long to wait before the peddler returned the bottle to the pack, and then, disposing himself on the ground, sank into an open-mouthed slumber.
Only when quite sure that the sleep was real did Natale steal away on noiseless feet, prize in hand, across the shallow ditch bordering the road, and onward to the shelter of a ruined shed quite out of sight of their resting-place. Putting the shed between him and the road, Natale unstrapped the pocketbook with trembling eagerness.
There lay the notes into which Giovanni had from time to time changed the cumbersome copper soldi of their earnings! There were the dingy blue five-franc notes, with many one and two-franc notes of a most uncompromising dirt color!