Soon after noon a grotesque little figure darted out of the tenement and down the street. Without looking to right or left it ran swiftly for a short distance, and then it stopped and looked back to see if any one were following. Then Pappina—for it was she—moved on, bound for the Toledo.
She held her head up proudly, and all the bits of lace and ribbon that she had fastened to her faded little frock fluttered about her as she hurried on—toward the Toledo she thought, but, in truth, over the bridge that leads to the Marina or wharf at Castle dell'Ovo.
The place had no historic interest for her. Pappina knew nothing of history; she was just a poor little Neapolitan girl. Only foreign tourists visited the oval–shaped castle because it was the place where Cicero met Brutus bloody–handed from the murder of Cæsar; where kings and queens had dwelt and been imprisoned. She saw only the crowds of people—the divine people who made the wonderland her brothers told about.
Some of the people were waving their arms toward the water and laughing. Pappina approached the edge of the wharf, that she might see everything that was going on.
Well–dressed men were throwing money into the waves.
"What wealth they must have!" exclaimed Pappina to herself. "Such queer words they speak, too! These must be the foreigners Vittorio tells about!"
She drew still nearer and saw that the people were laughing at the way a mob of half–naked boys were diving for the soldi the foreigners threw into the water, bringing the coins up in their mouths.
"Oh, the foreigners are not crazy; they are only kind," she thought.
She turned at a burst of laughter behind her, and there were more foreigners throwing soldi to more boys who were standing on their heads, turning hand–springs, and crying: "Date [give] un soldo."
Pappina was astonished. There were blond–haired Englishmen, blue–eyed Germans, black–whiskered Russians, generous Americans; and such wonderful ladies everywhere!