Dr. Riccabocca bent over the blossom, and then placed it in his bosom.
“The other one should be there, too,” said Jackeymo.
“To die—as this does already!” answered Riccabocca. “Say no more.”
Jackeymo shrugged his shoulders; and then, glancing at his master, drew his hand over his eyes.
There was a pause. Jackeymo was the first to break it.
“But, whether here or there, beauty without money is the orange tree without shelter. If a lad could be got cheap, I would hire the land, and trust for the crop to the Madonna.”
“I think I know of such a lad,” said Riccabocca, recovering himself, and with his sardonic smile once more lurking about the corner of his mouth—“a lad made for us!”
“Diavolo!”
“No, not the Diavolo! Friend, I have this day seen a boy who—refused sixpence!”
“Cosa stupenda!”—(Stupendous thing!) exclaimed Jackeymo, opening his eyes, and letting fall the water-pot.