"Doesn't want much cleverness to know that, though," said Bruno. "It's wonderful! it's magnificent! And it will shut up all their damned ... excuse me, miss, excuse me."
"And Joseph still intends to be a porter?"
"Dead set on it, and says he wouldn't change his profession to be a king."
"Quite right, too! And now let us look at something a little birdie brought me the other day. Come along, Joseph. Here it is. Down on your knees, gentleman, and help me to drag it out. One—two—and away!"
From the knee-hole of the desk came a large cardboard box, and Joseph's eyes glistened like big black beads.
"Now, what do you think is in this box, Joseph? Can't guess? Give it up? Sure? Well, listen! Are you listening? Which do you think you would like best—a porter's cocked hat, or a porter's long coat, or a porter's mace with a gilt hat and a tassel?"
Joseph's face, which had gleamed at every item, clouded and cleared, cleared and clouded at the cruel difficulty of choice, and finally looked over at Bruno for help.
"Choose now—which?"
But Joseph only sidled over to his father, and whispered something which Roma could not hear.
"What does he say?"