“Why mention about my walking?” I interrupted. The lady-mule was still a sore subject.
“I mention about your not riding,” he explained graciously, “because it will seem to the doctor a sure sign that you are a little”—here he touched his forehead with a significant gesture—“a little like some other foreigners, you know. And that, in its turn, will account for your collecting beetles. And that, in its turn, will account for your not visiting the Madonna. You comprehend the argument: how it all hangs together?”
“I see. What next?”
“Then you come up, holding one beetle in each hand, and pretend not to know a word of Italian—not a word! You must smile at the doctor, in friendly fashion; he’ll like that. And besides, it will prove what I said about——” (touching his forehead once more). “In fact, the truth will be manifest. And there will be no fumigation for us.”
It seemed a needlessly circuitous method of avoiding such a slight inconvenience. I would have put more faith in a truthful narrative by myself, suffused with that ingratiating amiability which I would perforce employ on such occasions. But the stronger mind, as usual, had its way.
“I’ll smile,” I agreed. “But you shall carry my beetles; it looks more natural, somehow. Go ahead, and find them.”
He moved forwards with the beasts and, after destroying a considerable tract of stone wall, procured a few specimens of native coleoptera, which he carefully wrapped up in a piece of paper. I followed slowly.
Unfortunately for him, that particular doctor happened to be an americano a snappy little fellow, lately returned from the States.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” he began, as I came up to where the two were arguing together. “I’ve heard of your passing through the other day. So you don’t talk Italian? Well, then, see here: this man of yours, this God-dam son of Satan, has been showing me a couple of bugs and telling me a couple of hundred lies about them. Better move on right away; lucky you struck me! As for this son of a ——, you bet I’ll sulphur him, bugs and all, to hell!”
I paid the crestfallen muleteer then and there; took down my bags, greatly lightened, and departed with them. Glancing round near the little bridge, I saw that the pair were still engaged in heated discussion, my man clinging despairingly, as it seemed, to the beetle-hypothesis; he looked at me with reproachful eyes, as though I had deserted him in his hour of need.