“By a vettura. We are making the journey in a leisurely way, going as far or as short a distance daily as we choose.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Naples.”
“So am I. Is your vettura a large one?”
“Large enough to hold four persons. We like plenty of room.”
“Then I’ll make you a proposition. Here I am alone—shipwrecked, as it were, on land. If you will let me join your party I’ll pay my share of the expense. In fact, I don’t mind paying more, for I ain’t mean, though I do hate to be imposed upon. Come now, what do you say?”
Walter Cunningham was rather startled by this unexpected proposal from an utter stranger. It jarred somewhat against his British exclusiveness. Still, there was something attractive in the American, rough and unpolished as he was in his manners, and Cunningham felt that he would amuse and interest them. As far as honesty went it would be impossible to suspect Mr. Sanderson. Besides, he looked like a man of substance and not like an adventurer. Walter Cunningham glanced towards Bernard, and thought he read in the boy’s face a desire that the American’s proposal should be accepted.
“I hardly know what to say,” he replied after a pause. “We do not in general care for the companionship of others, and I can hardly be said to have much knowledge of you—our acquaintance being of the briefest.”
“About ten minutes,” said Mr. Sanderson. “That’s true, and I’m afraid it’s cheeky in me to ask you to take me, but I feel sort of drawn to you both, particularly to my young countryman, Bernard.”
“Say no more, Mr. Sanderson. We’ll take you with us as far as Capua, at any rate. There, as it is a large and well known place, you will have no difficulty in making other arrangements.”