A Madcap Cruise

by Oric Bates

"Vous ne parlez pas beaucoup d'italien?" he asked in a pleasant voice.

"Ne pas de tout!" responded Jerry heartily, with a laugh.

Having found some one with whom he could talk, he at once began a lively conversation. He found the two men to be the custodians appointed by the government to look after the temples and to collect the fees of travelers. They explained that at this season it was extremely rare for a visitor to appear, and that they were therefore not particular about being exactly at their posts. They had heard some rumor of the discovery of antiques by peasants, and were setting out to investigate. They explained, however, that the chances of finding out anything were very small; the peasants all held together, and would all lie for one another. Jerry inferred, moreover, that they were by no means anxious to make discoveries. It was part of their duty to investigate such a rumor, for the government claimed the right to have a hand in the disposal of any treasure-trove; but the custodians seemed to have a good deal of sympathy with the wretched peasants, who tried to conceal anything they might find, in order to sell it for a fraction of its value to any stray forestiere who might appear. Now that a visitor had come, one of the men went alone on this errand, and the custode who spoke French returned toward the temples, which were near at hand, that he might formally take Tab's lira at the gate.

The Italian walked his horse beside Taberman past the two or three ruinous and apparently deserted houses, and in a few minutes the pair came to where their road ended in a broad turnpike which ran at right angles to it. On the other side of this turnpike, a little distance to his left, Jerry saw the ruins of a couple of temples, and beyond them the sea. His guide disregarded them, and led him to the right hand, where, a hundred yards or so along the highway, they came to a square two-story building of gray rubble. On its dingy front was painted in black letters the word "Osteria."

"V'là l'auberge," announced the jovial custodian. "If Michu is fatigued, he can get eggs and polenta within. The wine is rough, but not so bad as the water. This way, Michu."

And leaving his horse to crop the rank grass by the doorway, he strode into the building, Tab following.

The inn was a poor place, even for southern Italy. The floor was of trampled clay; the walls were unfinished within as without, but like the ceiling, from which hung bunches of garlic and black and dusty herbs, they were garnished with abundant cobwebs and a generous coating of soot and dirt. At the back of the room was a counter, above which a grimy sign announced the right of the proprietor to sell salt and tobacco. In the left-hand corner of the back of the place was one of the altar-like ranges of Italy, upon which glowed a minute heap of charcoal. Tab smiled to find himself recognizing its use from its resemblance to the cooking-places he had seen in the ruins of Pompeii, and reflected, with the superiority of a youth born in a young land, upon the conservatism which keeps its kitchen arrangements practically the same as they were two thousand years ago. The room was lighted simply by the door through which the visitors had entered. Another doorway at the left simply yawned blackly like the mouth of a cavern. The furniture consisted of a small square table and three stools. Over the entire place was spread an appearance of squalor and neglect, depressing, but in key with the air of poverty and of deadness which had been more evident to Tab with every step he had taken in Pæstum.

The room was empty when they entered it, but after the custode had bellowed lustily once or twice for "Angelo," the innkeeper appeared suddenly. He was a little man doubled up as if with rheumatism, and with a face as yellow as a dried lemon. On seeing Taberman he croaked something to the custode, and bowed to his guest again and again, rubbing his hands and all but losing his crooked balance with each genuflection.

With the air of an archduke ordering a banquet for his retainers, Jerry's companion gave some rapid instructions to the innkeeper, told the Michu to make the place his own, and then departed to attend to his horse and other trifles, saying that he would be back in half an hour.

Tab seated himself on a stool to await his luncheon. His host puttered about the altar, occasionally mumbling to himself, like the devotee of some Stygian power making sacrifice. Jerry was watching him with amusement, and wondering what would be the outcome of his incantations in the way of food, when on a sudden the doorway was darkened, and a man entered the room. At a glance Jerry saw that the newcomer was, like himself, a traveler. The stranger was of medium height, rather inclined, hardly to stoutness, but certainly to plumpness; he was well proportioned, with broad shoulders, but had a carriage curiously shuffling and insignificant. He held a stiff-brimmed straw hat in his hand, and Tab could see, where the outer light fell upon his crown, that his hair was slightly touched with gray. His face, Jerry decided, would have been handsome, had it not been marred by two deep lines from the nostrils to the corners of the mouth, which gave an appearance of sinister suspicion not without a hint of selfish cruelty. Except for a very silky mustache, he was clean-shaven.