During those first happy days at Palermo, we forgot (or pretended to) the one absorbing preoccupation of the last three months; behaved, Patsy said, as if there had never been an earthquake; inevitably we were brought back to it as children after a holiday must return to school. At the Quattro Canti we met two sandwich men parading the streets with flaming signs on their backs.
“Seconda gita a Messina, 8 francs!”
Luckless Messina! For eight francs the Palermitans can make a trip to see the wreck of the proud city once Palermo’s rival!
“Poor devils—to be made a spectacle of!” sighed Patsy. “Still it helps to have anybody make money! The railroad will get something out of these special trips; any movement is better than none.”
Outside a large dry-goods shop an immense placard called our attention.
“Bazar Messinesi. Bankrupt stock from Messina, to be sold out below cost.”
In the Via Marquada, a fine bustling modern street, I found my friend Palladia the milliner. She welcomed me cordially though I saw she looked ill and care-worn.
When the serious business of choosing straw, shape, and flowers for a new hat was over, we spoke of other things.
“How are thy affairs going, Palladia?”
“Badly, Signora. It is a dreadful season. No one buys anything new. See that mass of old hats my customers have brought me to make over! It is a miracle the Signora should come today; she can perhaps help me? I have had an idea. The ladies of Taormina have always served themselves at Messina (there is no serious milliner at Taormina). Now that the milliners of Messina are no more,—how if I went to Taormina with hats for Easter? Mostly mourning hats of course—but a little lighter, via, second mourning for the young ladies at least!”