The door opened, and there appeared, shod in slippers, the magnificent bulk of Signor Cosimo, who, smiling cordially, clapped his great hands on my shoulders, saying, three times over, “Bravo, bravo, bravo!” Then, turning to the small boy, he demanded—
“What are you doing here?”
“Just what I think fit!” replied the infant, who was thereupon expelled from the room with a tremendous box on the ear, after which his father turned to me and invited me to be seated.
My eye was at once caught by the grease-spots, and stains of wine and coffee, which adorned Signor Cosimo’s shirt and trousers. To tell the truth, I was uncomfortably affected by the sense of a want of consideration towards myself, but was soon appeased by his apologies for having kept me waiting, because he had gone upstairs to his own room, to “clean himself up a bit.”
“Oh! but.... Don’t mention it, Signor Cosimo!”
“Oh! bravo! bravo! bravo! But what a season, eh? Look here, you must be in need of some refreshment.... Gostino-o-o-o! What are they saying? What do they say in Florence about the crops?... Bravo! bravo! It is very good of you to have come; you have given us a regular treat!”
“Did you call, sir?”
“Go upstairs, Gostino, and ask your mistress to give you the keys of the sideboard, and bring this gentleman some refreshments.” Then to the child, who had returned in the wake of the servitor, “Go at once and get your face washed and make yourself fit to be seen.” With that, he boxed the small boy’s ears a second time, and turned him out of the room.
“And as to fruit, my dear sir, there’s nothing at all this year.”
“Ah!”