"Two lire—Madonna! Sangue di San Pancrazio, they ask me two lire! Macchè!" (He flung down the apron passionately upon the stall.) "Go and find Lipari people to buy your dirt; don't come to one from Marechiaro."
He took up another apron.
"Gaspare!"
"One lira fifty? Madre mia, do you think I was born in a grotto on Etna and have never——"
"Gaspare, listen to me!"
"Scusi, signorino! I——"
"I'm going over there to sit down in the shade for a minute. After that wine I drank at dinner I'm a bit sleepy."
"Si, signore. Shall I come with you?"
For once there was reluctance in his voice, and he looked down at the blue-and-white apron he had on with wistful eyes. It was a new joy to him to be bargaining in the midst of an attentive throng of his compatriots.
"No, no. You stay here and spend the money. Bid for the clock when the auction comes on."