“If the Madonna send us luck, and we could hire a lad cheap?” said Jackeymo, doubtfully.
“Piu vale un presente che due futuri,” said Riccabocca. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“Chi non fa quondo può, non può fare quondo vuole”—(“He who will not when he may, when he will it shall have nay”)—answered Jackeymo, as sententiously as his master. “And the Padrone should think in time that he must lay by for the dower of the poor signorina”—(young lady).
Riccabocca sighed, and made no reply.
“She must be that high now!” said Jackeymo, putting his hand on some imaginary line a little above the balustrade. Riccabocca's eyes, raised over the spectacles, followed the hand.
“If the Padrone could but see her here—”
“I thought I did!” muttered the Italian.
“He would never let her go from his side till she went to a husband's,” continued Jackeymo.
“But this climate—she could never stand it,” said Riccabocca, drawing his cloak round him, as a north wind took him in the rear.
“The orange trees blossom even here with care,” said Jackeymo, turning back to draw down an awning where the orange trees faced the north. “See!” he added, as he returned with a sprig in full bud.