Beppo answered to the summons, his old face wreathed in smiles, voluble and bearing a tray with hot chocolate and rolls. In vain McTaggart tried to gather the gist of the old man's talk. One word stood out plain, recurrent, with a questioning, anxious note.
"Toob"—he pondered upon it as at last the old servant withdrew and he leaned back against the pillows, glad of the somewhat scanty breakfast.
Presently he heard steps. A knock sounded on the door, and in came four men, staggering under a heavy burden. It proved to be an enormous bath, of the kind one associates with a fixed base and many fittings, utterly devoid of paint. McTaggart watched with wide eyes. It was bumped down before the stove, which Mario proceeded to light, and then under Beppo's guidance a sheet was spread over the vast sarcophagus and tucked in to form a lining.
Then the men filed out. The bath was filled with cold water and beside it—like a tender offspring!—a small foot-tub was arranged. From the latter a cloud of steam arose—a welcome sight to McTaggart—and on a chair before the stove was laid a garment in bath-toweling.
Mario approached the bed.
"Good morning to Him. His 'toob' is ready." He smiled with a flash of strong white teeth that lit up the olive face and lingered in the sloe-like eyes.
His tub! McTaggart solved the enigma. And what a tub! He checked a laugh as Beppo gravely took his tray with a glance in which triumph lurked.
But still Mario stood, expectant. His coat was off, his sleeves rolled up and—Beppo, lingering in the rear—he began a long respectful inquiry.
McTaggart, bewildered, shook his head. He caught the words "fregamento"—"massage" ... Good Heavens!—they were going to bathe him!
"Non, non!"—he stammered—"solo!" He pointed to the door, confused, as the two men consulted together.