"Ma non—ma non," he kept on whining, pointing to his highly polished shoes and the mud—with which there was no need for him to come in contact. At this juncture Brown and his gondolier hove in sight, and I gave them the shipwreck signal. While they were coming to my rescue, the corporale, again, like a mincing woman, got back into the garden. The gondolier threw me a rope, and then towed me out of my predicament, the corporale watching the maneuvers, cat-like, from his vantage ground above. I waved him adieu, and would not speak to him all of the next day. Brown explained his conduct with the one word—critica. If there is anything that Italians dislike, he told me, it is to be surprised by their neighbors in predicaments that make them appear ludicrous. He said that the corporale would have let the canoe rot in her mud berth before he would have subjected himself to the scrutiny of the onlookers in an attempt to save her. The reason he retired to the garden so quickly when Brown appeared was because he saw critica coming his way.
I am afraid that a similar fright possessed him several weeks later, when the canoe was blown through the Nicoletto Strait and out into the billowy Adriatic, whence she never returned. I was not present when the accident occurred, but "they" say that the corporale was, and that all that was necessary to save the canoe was to swim a short distance from shore and tow her back. But the "public" was doubtless looking on, and the corporale was afraid of the critical comments and suggestions.
I had the most fun with the canoe, while she lasted, in the small, narrow canals in Venice proper. Day after day, I cruised with her in different parts of the city, exploring new routes and sections, lunching where the hour overtook me, and in the evening paddled back to port on the Lido, feeling very nautical and picturesque. The principal fun came when I had to turn corners in the small canals. The gondoliers have regular calls, "To the right," and "To the left," and by rights I should have used them, too. But, somehow, all I could think of when surprised at a turn by an oncoming craft was to cry "Wa-hoo!" at the top of my voice, and then hug the side of some buildings till the danger had passed. The way the gondoliers scolded me was enough to have frightened a prizefighter, but I learned to expect scoldings and not to mind them. On the Riva, where I was wont to forgather with many of them, they finally got to calling me "Wa-hoo."
Of one of the Riva gondoliers I made quite an intimate, and when I moved back to Venice from the Lido we were almost daily together, either on the water or in his sandalo, or swapping yarns over a glass of wine and Polenta in some osteria.
On one occasion he came to me and said: "Signor, will you not accompany me on a journey to the fine lace and glasshouses in Venice?"
I said: "Gladly."
He continued: "You will see many fine things in our lace houses and our glass houses."
I said: "Let us see these wonderful things."
So we proceeded up the Grand Canal; afterwards we went down the Grand Canal. Since Lord Byron's time I believe there is a slight difference of opinion as to which is up or down in this canal. We got into Sambo's sandalo, and Sambo took me to one of the great lace houses, where I had to expose all my ignorance of lace, and yet try to appear to be a specialist in this commodity; then, to a place where what I understand is called Venetian glass was sold; then to other places. During none of our calls did I make a purchase, much to the disgust of the attending clerks, but fully within the agreement with Sambo that I should not buy that which I did not want or did not have money enough to buy. I noticed that Sambo received either a brass check or a small amount in Italian currency on each call. Eventually this pilgrimage to places of Venetian commercialism was finished. I said to Sambo: "What in the world is the meaning of all this?"
He said: "Why, signor, did you not observe? We have been friendly together, have we not?"