Turridu kept passing and repassing through the narrow little street, with his pipe in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, pretending indifference and ogling the girls; but inwardly he was eating his heart out to think that Lola’s husband had all that gold, and that she pretended not even to notice him as he passed by.
“I’d like to take her from under his very eyes, the dirty dog!” he muttered.
Across from Alfio’s house lived Master Cola, the vine-grower, who was rich as a porker, so they said, and had an unmarried daughter. Turridu said so much, and did so much, that Master Cola took him into his employ; then he began to haunt the house and make pretty speeches to the girl.
“Why don’t you go and say all these fine things to Mistress Lola?” Santa answered him.
“Mistress Lola is a big lady! Mistress Lola is wife of one of the crowned heads now!”
“I suppose I am not good enough for the crowned heads.”
“You are worth a hundred such as Lola; and I know one fellow who would never so much as look at Mistress Lola or her patron saint when you are around. For she isn’t fit even to carry your shoes for you, indeed she isn’t!”
“When the fox found that he couldn’t reach the grapes—”
“He said, 'how lovely you are, you sweet little grape!’”
“Oh! come, hands off, friend Turridu.”