"What, Gaspare?"
"Salvatore is birbante. You think he likes you."
"Why shouldn't he like me?"
"You are a forestiere. To him you are as nothing. But he likes your money."
"Well, then? I don't care whether he likes me or not. What does it matter?"
"Be careful, signorino. The Sicilian has a long hand. Every one knows that. Even the Napoletano knows that. I have a friend who was a soldier at Naples, and—"
"Come, now, Gaspare! What reason will there ever be for Salvatore to turn against me?"
"Va bene, signorino, va bene! But Salvatore is a bad man when he thinks any one has tried to do him a wrong. He has blood in his eyes then, and when we Sicilians see through blood we do not care what we do—no, not if all the world is looking at us."
"I shall do no wrong to Salvatore. What do you mean?"
"Niente, signorino, niente!"