Bill and Tony were coming from the school library, to be followed later by Gus, who remained to add some notes. The subject with which they were all wrestling covered voltmeter tests and relative amperage, principally with regard to battery construction. The boys were building their own batteries and must make no mistakes.
Bill was thumping along, talking, and Tony listening, as usual. They came through the double swinging doors of the dormitory on the way to the shop and passed a small group of upper classmen in the hallway, Malatesta among them, holding forth. The two went down the basement stairway, a door closed behind them and they were alone. Tony stopped.
“I may ask you, mio amico, you did see that fellow, my countryman, up there?”
Bill nodded, wondering.
“Well, it is so,” continued Tony, “that he watches us—you because of me, and me because of—to tell you it is something, shall I? Yes, it will give me satisfy. That Malatesta—Luigi his name it is—why you think he comes on this school? I will say he comes to spy to me. Perhaps you think this is absurd quite, but not so. In Italy his people and my people are at fighting—no, you call it ‘scrap,’ eh? We make war, by family. My mother’s people, one of the years long ago, kill one of this fellow’s people at the town festa and they seek to kill all her people and my father’s people take no part—know nothing. But when my father meet my mother and they are declared to marry, then the Malatesta fight with him and his people. Is it not strange and very ridiculo?
“And now I am come to the family war because no more longer a little child and this Luigi he swear he look after me here in America, and already I see the poniard lifted to strike at my breast, but I shall dodge and then maybe use my own, though hating the vendetta—feuds. Why shall all this be? How have I made anger and strife with these assassins? But to reason with them is to invite a more insult than death. You understand my telling?”
“Sure I do,” said Bill. “It is what we call in this country a feud, but it is rotten. Why don’t you go to the Doctor and——”
“Oh, no! My friend Bill, you cannot intend so. That would be poltrone—coward! We fight without people stopping—to end, if must be.”
“But a fellow like that—to come to school here just——”
“Oh, but he is smart, Luigi Malatesta, and to him learning is also good, though some of his people are low and many years ago they were of the banditti. And some were of the boat builders and some were rich.”