“Si, signorina,” he bowed and resumed his attitude of strained attention.
“He must have curly hair and black eyes and white teeth and a nice smile; I should like him to wear a red sash and earrings. He must be obliging and cheerful and deferential and speak good Italian—I won’t have a man who speaks only dialect. He must play the mandolin and sing Santa Lucia—I believe that’s all.”
“And I suppose since he is to act as guide he must know the region?” her father mildly suggested.
“Oh, no, that’s immaterial; we can always ask our way.”
Mr. Wilder grunted, but offered no further suggestion.
“We pay four lire a day and furnish his meals,” she added munificently. “And we shall begin with the castle on Monte Baldo; then when we get very proficient we’ll climb Monte Maggiore. Do you understand?”
“Ze signorina desires tree donkeys and a driver at seven o’clock to-morrow morning to climb Monte Baldo?”
“In brief, yes, but please remember the earrings.”
Meanwhile a commotion was going on behind them. The hotel omnibus had rumbled into the court yard. A fachino had dragged out a leather trunk, an English hat box and a couple of valises and dumped them on the ground while he ran back for the paste pot and a pile of labels. The two under-waiters, the chamber-maid and the boy who cleaned boots had drifted into the court. It was evident that the American gentleman’s departure was imminent.