"With pleasure."
"'N' say, I'm a few chips shy on butter, Geoff—bring in ten cents' worth, will you?"
"Right, O comrade, I'll be with you anon. Make boil the kettle against my coming," and Ravenslee hastened down the stairs. Reaching the court he met the Italian trundling his barrow toward a certain shed, its usual nocturnal biding place.
"How goes it, Tony?" he enquired, shaking hands.
The Italian nodded and flashed his teeth. "Ver-a good, pal!" he answered.
"Tony, where can I get a peanut outfit like yours?"
"Ha! You go-a in-a da peanut-a beezneez, hey? You want-a push-a de cart, hey?"
"That's it, Tony."
"Ver-a good!" nodded the good-natured Italian. "You come-a long-a me, pal. I take-a you get-a push-a-de-cart, up-a de street, yes?" Having very soon locked away his barrow, the loquacious Tony led Ravenslee along certain streets and into a certain yard, where presently appeared a stout man with rings in his ears, who smiled and nodded and greeted them with up-flung finger and the word "altro." Presently Ravenslee found himself examining a highly ornate barrow fitted with stove and outfit complete, even unto the whistle, and mounted upon a pair of the rosiest wheels he had ever seen. Thereafter were more smiles and nods, accompanied by the ever recurrent "altro", the transfer of certain bills into the stout man's pocket, and Geoffrey Ravenslee sallied forth into the street, bound for Mulligan's, with the chattering Tony beside him and the gaily-painted barrow before him, receiving many friendly hints as to the pitfalls and intricacies of the peanut trade and hearkening with unflagging interest to the story of "lil Pietro" and the unbounded goodness of "da Signorina Hermione."