'Either give numbers, or you stay here!' thundered Dr. Trifari.
'An end to your fooling; give us the real tip for the lottery,' said Gaetano, grinding his teeth.
'Don Pasqualino, make up your mind that those gentlemen won't let you go away till you have given them lottery numbers—make up your mind to it,' Don Crescenzio remarked wisely. He wished to pretend he was not interested in the question.
'Next week. I promise them to you then; now I have not got them, I swear it upon the Virgin!' stammered the medium, turning his eyes to heaven despairingly.
'What good is next week?' all yelled out. 'It must be to-night, for to-morrow—quick!'
'I have not got them, I have not got them,' he stammered again, shaking his head.
'You must give them. We will make you give them,' the Marquis roared. 'We can do no more. Either we win this week, or we are ruined. Don Pasqualino, we have waited long enough; we have believed too much; you have treated us unfairly. The spirit tells you the real figures, you know them, you always have known them; but you went on mocking at us, telling us silly things. We can't wait till next week; before that we may die, or see someone else die, or go to the galleys. This evening or to-morrow we must have the true numbers. You understand?'
'The true—the true ones!' hissed Colaneri.
'Do not go on talking nonsense; it is past the time for that now,' shouted Ninetto Costa, with the greatest indignation.
Still, in spite of feeling conquered and taken hostage to the unreasonable fury that he had set on fire himself, the medium tried to fight on.