"Try your luck, girl," he said roughly to Pappina. "Sing, dance, give us a gay one."
Pappina hesitated, then she looked at her new dress and shoes, took up her tambourine, and began to sing.
The liquid notes poured forth as from the throat of a nightingale. She forgot the people and where she was, forgot everything but her song. Her voice rang out so clear and pure that even the lazy, loafing boys threw away their cigarettes and joined the crowd that was holding its breath to catch the silvery sweetness of the tiny singer's song.
The last notes were unheard, so loud were the cheers they gave her.
Guiseppe, the money–lover, was chuckling with pleasure and anticipation.
"Pass your tambourine," he commanded.
The ragged boys dived into their pockets to see if there was even un soldo to give. Young black–haired, bareheaded women found a small coin or two. Pale–faced Neapolitan loafers with the drapery of their cloaks thrown over their shoulders, having nothing to offer but shouts of approval, slunk away before the tambourine reached them. Old women all rags and fangs, weak little girls supporting big babies, eager to hear another song, tried in vain to find something for the singer.
What little there was in the tambourine Guiseppe soon had in his pocket.
"The girl's too good for such beggars," he said as he took up the Punchinellos and started down the street.
Pappina, pleased with his praise, walked proudly beside him, prattling, humming, laughing, pointing here and there, enthusiastic over every new thing she saw.