THE-LAST-LADY 
 OF- MULBERRY 
 
 HENRY- WILTON THOMAS
 
 ''' 
 **
 
 The Last Lady of cMulberty
 
 
 Flowers for a Neapolitan of the Porto ! 
 
 (See page 53.)
 
 The Last Lady 
 of Mulberry 
 
 cA Story of Italian cN&w York 
 By Henry Wilton Thomas 
 
 Illustrated by Emit Pollak 
 
 York 
 
 D. c/lppleton and Company 
 1900
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1900 
 BY HENRY WILTON THOMAS 
 
 A II rights reserved
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A GODDESS SCORNED I 
 
 II. CASA Di BELLO 18 
 
 III. A SPOT OF YELLOW PAINT 37 
 
 IV. JUNO THE SUPERB 44 
 
 V. THE FIRST LADY 57 
 
 VI. CAROLINA RESOLVES TO GO COURTING . . 75 
 
 VII. A FLUTTER IN THE TOMATO BANK ... 82 
 
 VIII. JUNO PERFORMS A MIRACLE .... 94 
 
 IX. THE PERPETUA MEETS A BEAR .... 102 
 X. BIRTH OF THE LAST LADY . . . .114 
 
 XL A RACE TO THE SWIFT 123 
 
 XII. THE PEACE PRESERVED 143 
 
 XIII. THE PEACE DISTURBED 153 
 
 XIV. YELLOW BOOTS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS . . 172 
 
 XV. FAILURE OF BANCA TOMATO .... 186 
 
 XVI. THE LAST LADY UNMASKED .... 211 
 
 XVII. THE FALCON SAVES THE DOVE .... 228 
 
 XVIII. AT THE ALTAR OF SAN PATRIZIO . . . 238 
 
 XIX. EVENTS WAIT UPON THE DANDELIONS . . 255 
 V
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XX. A HOUSE DIVIDED 268 
 
 XXI. THE FEAST OF SPRINGTIDE 278 
 
 XXII. CAROLINA CONSTRUCTS A DRAMA . . . 292 
 
 XXIII. A PARTNERSHIP IN TEN-INCH ST. PETERS . . 308 
 
 XXIV. TWO TROUBLESOME WEDDING GIFTS . . .314 
 
 VI
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 Flowers for a Neapolitan of the Porto ! Frontispiece 
 Would Genoa be the same when his Juno and Peacock 
 
 should be there ? 5 
 
 Bertino's arrival at Paradise Park .... 20 
 
 The bear-tamer's wife IO 9 
 
 "A broken leg! Dio Santo!" Iir 
 
 It was a wild thrust I 7 
 
 Bridget in balia array J ^9 
 
 Jack Tar's ignoble end J 9 6 
 
 The Last Lady as Queen of the Feast . . .287 
 
 Vll
 
 THE LAST LADY OF MULBERRY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A GODDESS SCORNED 
 
 ALL Armando knew of sculpture he had 
 learned from his uncle Daniello, a mountain 
 craftsman who never chiselled anything 
 greater than a ten-inch Saint Peter. At 
 night in the tavern on the craggy height, 
 with a flask of barbera before him, the old 
 carver would talk grandly of his doings in 
 art, while his comrades, patient of the oft- 
 told tale, nodded their heads in listless but 
 loyal accord. They all knew very well that 
 it was young Armando who did most of the 
 carving, yet they cried " Bravo ! " for old 
 Danielle's wine was good. And so it had 
 been for a long time. While the lad chipped 
 
 I
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 all day in a little workshop perched beyond 
 the nether cloud shadows, his uncle passed 
 the hours in Genoa, where, by sharp wits and 
 bland tongue, he transmuted the marble into 
 silver. 
 
 But Armando had a soul that looked far 
 above the gleaming tonsures of ten-inch 
 Saint Peters. Wherefore he was unhappy. 
 When his twentieth birthday dawned it 
 seemed to him that his life had been a fail- 
 ure. One morning, after a night of much 
 barbera and noisy gasconade, old Daniello 
 did not wake up, and two days after- 
 ward they laid him to rest in the slop- 
 ing graveyard in the gorge by the olive-oil 
 mill. 
 
 Gloomily Armando weighed the situa- 
 tion, standing by the mullioned window of 
 the room wherein he had toiled so long and 
 ignobly. Far in the western distance he 
 could see the ships that seemed to glide 
 with full sails across the mountains. The 
 serene midsummer vapours, pendulous above 
 the Mediterranean, were visible, but the sea 
 
 2
 
 A Goddess Scorned 
 
 upon which their shadows fell and lingered 
 was hidden from his view by a thicket of 
 silver firs. Southward the trees stood lower, 
 and over their tops, where tired sea gulls cir- 
 cled, he gazed sadly toward the jumble of 
 masonry that is Genoa. 
 
 Miles below in the sun glare the city lay 
 this morning as Heine found it decades ago, 
 like the bleached skeleton of some thrown- 
 up monster of the deep. And a monster it 
 was in the sight of the poor lad who looked 
 down from the heights of Cardinali but a 
 monster that he would conquer, even as 
 Saint George, champion of Genoa, had con- 
 quered the dragon in ages far agone. Yes, 
 he would strike off for evermore the chains 
 that fettered him to ten-inch Saint Peters, 
 and mount to the white peaks of art ! In 
 the Apennine hamlet he had lived all his 
 days, and never heard of Balzac ; but he 
 clinched his fist, and, with eyes set upon the 
 cluster of chimney pots at the mountain's 
 foot, made his vow : 
 
 "In this room, O Genoa! will I bring 
 3
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 forth a marble that shall make you do me 
 honour." 
 
 Then he felt uplifted as though he had 
 burned the bridges that hung between his 
 old ignominy and the straight path to fame 
 and riches. The vow was still fervid and 
 strong within him when, two days afterward, 
 he beheld in a shop window of Genoa a 
 photograph of Falguiere's great marble, 
 Juno and the Peacock. Before the divine 
 contours of Jupiter's helpmeet the simple- 
 hearted graver of saintly images stood en- 
 chanted. Presently, as though spoken by a 
 keen, mysterious voice from the upper air, 
 there pierced his consciousness the word 
 "Replica!" Again and again was it re- 
 peated, each time with a new insistence. 
 Ah, a copy of this in marble ! Yes ; with 
 such a masterpiece he would begin his 
 ascent to the white peaks. He bought the 
 photograph, put it in his pocket and kept it 
 there until he was beyond the city's bounds 
 and trudging up the causeway toward Cardi- 
 nali. Now and then he took out the pic- 
 
 4
 
 Would Genoa be the same when his Juno and Peacock 
 should be there ?
 
 A Goddess Scorned 
 
 ture, regarded it fondly, and, peering back 
 at the town, asked himself if Genoa would 
 look the same when his Juno and the Pea- 
 cock should be there. Would the soft mur- 
 mur of that drowsy mass have the same 
 note? Would the people move with the 
 same pace, eat, sleep, and drink as they had 
 always done ? He was inclined to think 
 they would not. 
 
 For a twelvemonth, through early tides 
 and late shifts, he modelled and chipped : in 
 winter, when the demoniac mistral, raging 
 all about him, shook the workshop and 
 snapped the boughs of the cypresses ; in 
 summer, when the ortolan and the wood- 
 thrush cheered him with their song. And 
 the little group of neighbours, from whom 
 he guarded his great artistic secret, marvelled 
 that no more Saint Peters came forth from 
 their time-honoured birthplace. 
 
 Only two persons in Cardinali besides 
 Armando had knowledge of the momentous 
 affair that was going forward. One was 
 Bertino, a fair-haired youth of the sculptor's 
 
 5
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 age, who busied his hands by day plaiting 
 Lombardian straw into hats, and his head 
 by night dreaming of America and shower- 
 ing cornucopias of gold. He was Arman- 
 do's bosom friend. The other confidant was 
 Bertino's foster sister Marianna, somewhat 
 demure for a mountain lass, and subject to 
 thinking spells. Beauty she had, notably 
 on feast days, when she walked to church 
 with a large-rayed comb in her braided 
 chestnut waterfall, a gorgeous striped apron, 
 and clattering half -sabots, freshly scraped 
 and polished to a shine. She, too, plaited 
 straw, and with it wove many love thoughts 
 and sighs for Armando. 
 
 At last the stately goddess and her long- 
 tailed companion stood triumphant in all the 
 candour of marble not wholly spotless. The 
 hour of unveiling it to the astonished gaze 
 of Bertino and Marianna was the happiest 
 that the ruler of Armando's fate permitted 
 him for many a day thereafter. The bitter- 
 ness and crushing disillusion came on the 
 day that he loaded the carved treasure on 
 
 6
 
 the donkey cart of Sebastiano the carrier, 
 and followed Juno and the Peacock down 
 the mountain pass to the haven of his sweet 
 anticipation. 
 
 " He has been saving up his Saint 
 Peters," said Michele the Cobbler to a group 
 of mystified neighbours as the cart passed 
 his shop. " See, he has a box full of them. 
 I wonder how many saints one can cut out 
 in a year. Ah, well, it was not thus that 
 his uncle Danielle did, nor his father before 
 him. Shall I tell you what I think, my 
 friends? Well, I think that boy is going 
 wrong." 
 
 "Ah, st," was the unanimous voice. 
 
 "May your success be great, Armando 
 mine!" said Bertino when they parted at the 
 first curve of the pass. " Perhaps against 
 your return I shall have famous news from 
 America. Who knows? Good fortune be 
 with you. Addio" 
 
 "The saints be with you to a safe re- 
 turn," said Marianna. "Addio, and good 
 fortune." 
 
 7
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 "Addio, carissimi amid." 
 
 Sebastiano the carrier lifted the block 
 from the wheel and the donkey moved on. 
 Armando walked behind, keeping a watch- 
 ful eye on the thing in the cart, which was 
 in every shade of the term a reduced replica 
 of Falguiere's inspiration. 
 
 " You must be very careful, Sebastiano," 
 said he. " Never in your life have you had 
 such a valuable load on your cart." 
 
 " Bah ! " growled the driver. " Valu- 
 able ! How many have you there ? Are 
 they all the same size? Do you mean to 
 say that I never had a load as valuable as a 
 boxful of Saint Peters ? Oh, bello / Only 
 last week did I haul a barrel of fine barolo 
 to the Inn of the Fat Calf. Ah, my dear, 
 that is a wine. Wee-ah ! wee-ah ! Go 
 on, you lazy one. That donkey is too 
 careful." 
 
 They reached their destination in Genoa 
 without mishap. When the art dealer who 
 had consented to look at it had bestowed on 
 Armando's work of a year a momentary sur- 
 
 8
 
 A Goddess Scorned 
 
 vey, he turned to the sculptor, who stood hat 
 in hand, and regarded him earnestly. 
 
 " Who told you to do this, dear young 
 man ? " he asked, removing his eyeglasses. 
 
 " Nobody, signore. It was my own idea." 
 
 The merchant turned to Juno with a new 
 interest. 
 
 " Not so bad as it might have been," he 
 shrugged, moving aside to view the figures in 
 profile. "What is your name ? Signor Cor- 
 rini. Well but, my dear young man, it will 
 be a long time, perhaps years, before you are 
 able to do work of this kind. Naturally, I 
 could not permit it to remain in my place. 
 What else have you done ? Something 
 smaller, I suppose." 
 
 Armando strove hard to keep them back, 
 but the sobs choked him. 
 
 While the merchant stood by, offering 
 words meant to comfort, but which added to 
 his anguish, he replaced the marble in the 
 box and nailed the lid before rousing Sebas- 
 tiano from his siesta in the cart. 
 
 " It all comes of keeping the saints too 
 9
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 long," grumbled the carrier, as he helped lift 
 Juno and the Peacock back into the cart. 
 " Never did your uncle Daniello have any 
 thrown on his hands not he. Ah, there 
 was a man of affairs ! " 
 
 The donkey tugged at the chain traces, 
 moved the wheels a spoke or two, then 
 stopped and looked around at the driver, 
 wagging his grizzled ears in mute but elo- 
 quent disapproval of hauling a load skyward. 
 But after duly weighing the matter, assisted 
 by several clean-cut hints from a rawhide 
 lash, he set off at his own crablike pace. 
 
 The first turning of the highway attained, 
 Armando paused and gazed on the city be- 
 low, his heart aflood with bitterness. Far to 
 the westward the sun, in variant crimson 
 tones, lay hidden under the sea, like the last, 
 loftiest dome of some sinking Atlantis. In 
 every white hamlet of the slopes the Ange- 
 lus was ringing. Night birds from Africa 
 wheeled around the towering snares set for 
 them by the owners of the olive terraces and 
 villas, whose yellow walls in long stretches 
 
 10
 
 A Goddess Scorned 
 
 bordered the steep route. With his little 
 group of living and inanimate companions 
 Armando trudged along, his head bowed, 
 silent as the marble in the cart. The gloam- 
 ing quiet was unbroken, save for the gluck 
 of the wheels and the distant chant of the 
 belfries. 
 
 They were yet a long way from the out- 
 ermost cot of Cardinal! when a resounding 
 shout brought the donkey to a standstill and 
 startled Sebastiano into a "Per Bacco / " 
 
 It was the voice of Bertino. He was 
 rounding a curve in the road, brandishing a 
 piece of folded paper, and clattering toward 
 them as fast as he could in his heavy wooden 
 shoes. His radiant face proclaimed that 
 something had happened to fill him with 
 gladness. A few paces behind came Mari- 
 anna, but in her eyes there was no token of 
 joy. She had beheld the loaded cart. 
 
 " Long live my uncle ! " cried Bertino, 
 grasping Armando's hand. "The letter has 
 come, and I'm off for America. Think of 
 it, Armando mio, I, Bertino Manconi, going 
 
 ii
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 to America ! It is no longer a dream. I 
 am to go go, do you understand ? The 
 money is here, and nothing can stop me. 
 But come, you do not seem happy to hear 
 of my great good fortune. I know, dear 
 friend, you are sorry to lose me. Bah ! one 
 can not live in the mountains all his life, and 
 perhaps you too will be there some day 
 some day when your Juno is sold. To-night 
 all my friends shall drink a glass of spumante 
 to my voyage yes, the real spumante of 
 Asti. At the Inn of the Fat Calf will I 
 say addio, for I set sail to-morrow. Tell 
 me, now, do you not count me a lucky 
 devil?" 
 
 " You are lucky," said Armando sadly. 
 " I wish I could go. My own country does 
 not want me." 
 
 Marianna walked at the tail of the cart. 
 While her brother was talking she had lifted 
 the box in the hope that it might, after all, 
 be only the empty one that he was bringing 
 back ; but the weight of it told her the truth 
 she had read in Armando's face. 
 
 12
 
 A Goddess Scorned 
 
 "The beast! "she said, "to refuse such 
 a fine thing as that. What did 
 
 Armando signalled silence, and pointed 
 to Sebastiano, who walked ahead. By this 
 time Bertino understood, and he too ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " The beast ! " 
 
 "Who's a beast?" asked the muleteer. 
 
 " That art merchant, whoever he is. 
 Bah ! What would you have ? In this 
 country a fellow has no chance. What a 
 fool one is to stay here ! " 
 
 " No, no ; the country is good," said Se- 
 bastiano, shaking his head and jerking a 
 thumb toward Armando. " But what can 
 you expect when one keeps his Saint Peters 
 a whole year ? " 
 
 The others exchanged knowing glances 
 and followed on in silence. The rest of the 
 way it was plain to all who saw Bertino pass 
 that he was thinking very hard, and with the 
 product of this mental exertion he was fairly 
 bursting by the time they reached Armando's 
 home, for he had not dared to speak in pres- 
 
 13
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 ence of the carrier. When Juno and the 
 Peacock had been restored to their birth- 
 place he began : 
 
 " Now, listen to me, amid, for I have an 
 idea. I am going to America. Is not that 
 so?" 
 
 " Yes ; you are going to America. Well ? " 
 
 " Patience. You know that as the assist- 
 ant of my uncle in his great shop in New 
 York I shall be rather a bigger man than I 
 am here. Who knows what I may become ? " 
 
 "Ah, sz; who knows?" said Marianna. 
 
 " Listen. Now, let us have a thought 
 together. Here is Armando. He is a fine 
 sculptor. We know that. The proof is 
 here." He tapped the big box. " But in 
 Genoa they are too stupid and too poor to 
 buy his magnificent work. Now, in Amer- 
 ica people are neither stupid nor poor. 
 Why can he not make a fortune in Amer- 
 ica?" 
 
 " I can't go to America," said Armando. 
 
 " No ; he can't go to America," chimed 
 in Marianna. " What a foolish idea ! "
 
 " Excuse me. Who wants him to go to 
 America ? He stays in Cardinali and makes 
 statues. I go to New York and sell them. 
 Now, my dears, do you see which way the 
 swallow is flying ? " 
 
 " But " 
 
 " But " 
 
 " But nothing. Do you think that I, 
 who sail for America to-morrow, do not 
 know what I am about ? Listen. What do 
 you suppose I was doing on the way up ? 
 Well, I was thinking. I have thought it all 
 out. I ask you this, Armando : Juno and 
 the Peacock you made from a photograph ? 
 Very well ; can you not make other things 
 from photographs? From New York I 
 shall send you the picture of some great 
 American ; some one as great as as great 
 as " 
 
 " Crespi," suggested Armando, now inter- 
 ested in the project. 
 
 " Crespi ? No, no. Some one greater, 
 like like " 
 
 " D'Annunzio," Armando ventured again. 
 15
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " Bah ! Who is he ? I mean some one 
 very great, like 
 
 " I know ! " cried Marianna. " Like the 
 Pope!" 
 
 " No, no," persisted Bertino. " It must 
 be some man as big as Garibaldi. That's 
 it. But not a dead Garibaldi. He must be 
 alive, so that I may sell him the bust that 
 you will make of him. What would you do 
 with a man like that, for example ? " 
 
 "Well," said Armando, pausing and look- 
 ing up at the ceiling, as though weighing the 
 matter carefully, " I should make a very fine 
 bust of such a man." 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Bertino. " With a piece 
 of your best work for a sample, how long 
 should I be getting orders for more ? Not 
 many days, I promise. And the Americans 
 have gold. What say you, my friend ? Is 
 it not a grand idea ? " 
 
 "Sz, si; a grand idea." 
 
 In truth it loomed before Armando as 
 the chance of his life. Now as ardent as 
 the other, he agreed to begin work upon a 
 
 16
 
 A Goddess Scorned 
 
 bust in marble so soon as he should receive 
 from America a photograph of the chosen 
 subject. When finished he would send it to 
 New York, there to be put on exhibition 
 and offered for sale. 
 
 That afternoon the Saale steamed from 
 Genoa Bay with Bertino a steerage passen- 
 ger. Some time after the ship had swung 
 from her quay Armando and Marianna 
 looked from the studio window over the cy- 
 press fringe toward the gap in the mountains 
 that shows the sails of ships but conceals the 
 Mediterranean's waves. Presently a black 
 bar of smoke moving lazily across the aper- 
 ture told them that he was on his way. 
 
 Near the window a block of Carrara 
 marble glistened pure and white in the sun- 
 light. Armando wondered what manner of 
 being he should release from it a President, 
 a money king, or a great American beauty ?
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 CASA DI BELLO 
 
 THE banked fire of America's Sabbath 
 gave its quiet to Bowling Green the day that 
 Bertino landed in New York. It was not 
 the New York he had seen so often from 
 the heights of Cardinali. The cloud-pierc- 
 ing houses had always loomed in his dream 
 pictures, but no returned exile had ever told 
 him that they filled the soul with this name- 
 less dread. He longed to be in Mulberry, 
 which all travellers agreed was the next best 
 thing to being in Italy. With a goatskin 
 box under one arm, a tawny cotton um- 
 brella pressed by the other, and his left hand 
 clutching the knotted ends of a kerchief 
 holding more luggage, he set out from the 
 Barge Office. In the band of his narrow- 
 18
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 brimmed black soft hat the precious adorn- 
 ment of festal days stood a gray turkey 
 feather, and about his bare neck in sailor 
 noose was tied a cravat of satin, green as the 
 myrtle of his native steeps. As he strode 
 up Broadway, past old Trinity and Wall 
 Street, the heavy fall of his hobnailed boots 
 started the echoes of the New World's finan- 
 cial centre. 
 
 A flock of fellow-pilgrims clattered by at 
 high speed in care of a guide, who charged 
 five cents a head for piloting them safely to 
 the Italian colony. The hatless women, bur- 
 dened with babies and heavy sacks, struggled 
 bravely to keep up with the men, who car- 
 ried the umbrellas. Bertino fell in behind, 
 and soon they turned the corner of Franklin 
 Street. Here they got their first glimpse of 
 Mulberry, which lay clearly visible in the 
 distance at the foot of a hill whose summit 
 is Broadway. Beneath the Bridge of Sighs, 
 which spans the street at the Tombs Prison, 
 forming an arching frame for the picture, 
 they could see the pleasant lawn of Paradise 
 
 19
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Park. It was a bright afternoon, and the 
 broad patch of greensward gleamed like a 
 great emerald down there in the sunlight, and 
 the low-roofed houses all around, with the 
 sun's fire in their window panes, had a home- 
 like countenance. This was not the image 
 their minds had wrought of Mulberry, where 
 travellers said the people were herded in 
 pens that knew not the light of day. How 
 strange that no one had ever told them it 
 was so cheerful and bello ! But when they 
 reached the heart of the quarter they had no 
 more thrills from the contemplation of nat- 
 ural beauty. Here the air throbbed with 
 the staccato cadence of south Italian patois. 
 The signs over the shops were no longer 
 gibberish, and Bertino blessed the day that 
 he, Armando, and Marianna had paid the 
 mountain pedagogue three liras to teach 
 them words of ordinary size. 
 
 Mulberry was in its accustomed Sunday 
 
 manner. Nearly all the shops were closed, 
 
 and their faces, so smiling on week days in 
 
 scarlet wreaths of dried peppers, clusters of 
 
 20
 
 Bertino's arrival at Paradise Park.
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 varnished buffalo cheeses and festoons of 
 Bologna salame, now frowned in shabby 
 black or dark-brown shutters. Madre Chi- 
 ara's bower, evergreen on working days with 
 chicory and dandelion salad and Savoy cab- 
 bage, had vanished with its owner. No 
 gossip-hungry women, with primed ears, 
 bent about the basket of the garlic seller on 
 China Hill, for she was out with everybody 
 to-day in her best clothes. The crippled 
 beggar at the hydrant was not missing, but 
 he shivered in the May sunshine because 
 Sara the Frier of Pepper Pods was not 
 there with her pail of fire. Another impor- 
 tant brazier was in Sunday retirement that 
 of old Cantolini the Gondolier, and in con- 
 sequence there floated on the air no suave 
 odour of cooking pine cones, whose seed 
 the Napolitani of the Basso Porto so love 
 to munch. 
 
 In the rear courts, where gamblers at 
 morra bawled and capered like madmen, 
 rows of pushcarts, their stubby shafts in the 
 air, told of a twenty-four-hour truce in the 
 
 21
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 strategic fray waged between the peddler 
 army and the artful police. The narrow rib- 
 bon of sky between the tall tenements had a 
 Sunday look ; it was not mottled with shirts 
 of many patches hung out to dry, and the 
 iron fire escapes, stripped of their week-day 
 wash things in the general sprucing up, gave 
 to the eye here and there the colours of 
 Italy. The dingy caffts, from whose tene- 
 brous depths tobacco smoke poured with the 
 scent of viands, were crowded with the Cala- 
 briani, the Siciliani, and the Napolitani of 
 the rural districts visiting Mulberry for an 
 innocent spree. 
 
 The jewelry shops were open and doing 
 a lively trade. Young men bought wed- 
 ding rings and tried them on the fingers of 
 their promised wives, while faint-hearted 
 bachelors, at the same counter, parted with 
 their hard-earned coin for little silver-tipped 
 horns against the evil eye. At the door a 
 brawny flower woman in spickest gingham 
 held a basket of dahlias fresh, mingled with 
 carnations and asters that had lost the bloom 
 
 22
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 of first youth. It was a sure vantage ground 
 for her traffic. The mating couples, proud 
 in their ownership of the wedlock band, 
 stopped at the basket, every one, and close- 
 fisted indeed was the future husband who 
 did not hand a posy to his bride elect. 
 
 As the wondering Bertino passed, bearded 
 men in the role of newsboys bellowed their 
 wares in his ears : "// Progresso ! LJAraldo ! 
 Ultaliano in America! Due soldi!" Lit- 
 erature got scant nourishment, but tobacco- 
 selling throve, and the man without a lengthy 
 rat-tail cigar in his mouth was marked among 
 his fellows. They were all in their smartest 
 clothes. Starched shirts were too numerous 
 to give their wearers distinction, and not a few 
 of the clean-shaved necks fretted within stiff 
 collars. Here and there dark-skinned young 
 sparks with red neckties puffed cigarettes 
 and showed fine in apparel that smacked of 
 Bowery show-windows. Scarcely a woman 
 was there from whose ears did not hang 
 long pendants of gold, nor a feminine head 
 that did not gleam in oily smoothness. 
 
 23
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Shawls woven in the gaudy hues and fan- 
 tastic patterns of Italian looms splashed the 
 throng with colour, and a few of those large- 
 rayed combs that Apennine maidens love to 
 \vear glinted in the sunshine of Paradise 
 Park. Much courting went forward on the 
 park benches, the fond ones caring not an 
 atom for the stare of colder eyes, but retain- 
 ing their entwined pose in sweet oblivion to 
 the rest of Mulberry. 
 
 The company in charge of the five-cent 
 guide followed their leader into a broad 
 alley, and Bertino was left alone in the con- 
 course, at loss whither to turn. Not a soul 
 gave the least heed to him. Those whom 
 he asked to point him to 342 Mulberry 
 Street, his uncle's abode, passed on shaking 
 their heads and mumbling something in 
 broad Sicilian or Neapolitan which the 
 young Genovese did not understand. Some 
 sighed as they made the sign of not know- 
 ing, as though that number were the darkest 
 of mysteries. At length a gleam of light 
 came over one face. 
 
 24
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 " I know," said the man, a young fellow 
 decked in Sunday corduroy. " It is Casa 
 Di Bello." 
 
 " Yes ; Giorgio Di Bello is the name of 
 my uncle." 
 
 " Your uncle ? Santa Maria, signore ! 
 Let me carry your trunk." 
 
 But Bertino only hugged the goatskin 
 closer, the tales of Mulberry sharks current 
 in every mountain hamlet of Italy being 
 vivid in his mind. 
 
 " I'll show you the house, anyway," said 
 the man of knowledge, and Bertino fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 The sidewalk was too narrow for the 
 buzzing stream. The asphalted roadway had 
 become the grand promenade, and there the 
 panorama of Italia's types unrolled : black 
 men of Messina, with the hair and skin of 
 Persia, exiled from Etna's slopes mayhap 
 by the glowing lavas that burn up olive 
 grove and vineyard ; red, flat-nosed men and 
 fair-haired women of Lombardy, driven per- 
 chance from their fertile plains by the ruin 
 3 25
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 that rides grimly on the freshets of the Po, 
 but brought oftener by the tax collector ; 
 cowherds and clodbreakers of the Roman 
 Campagna, whose clear-toned dialect found 
 an antiphonal note in the patter of the gaunt 
 but often brawny sons of fever-plagued 
 Maremma. Here and there in the moving 
 throng strutted a labour padrone, out to 
 salute and be saluted with lifted hat by all 
 who prized his favour. One and all they 
 uncovered as he passed sturdy dwarfs from 
 Calabria and the Basilicata, mere pegs from 
 the heel and the toe of the Boot ; limpid- 
 eyed mountaineers from the Abruzzi, bronzed 
 fags of half-African Sicily, riffraff of the 
 Neapolitan slums ; America-mad fishermen 
 of the Adriatic and Tyrrhene, deserters of a 
 
 9 
 
 coinless Arcadia to become hod-slaves with 
 a bank account. 
 
 Slowly but volubly the clans of toil 
 moved by, unheeded by a little mother 
 whose life was given for the moment to shin- 
 ing the heavy gold rings in her baby's ears. 
 
 " Eccola, signore" said the man in cor- 
 26
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 duroy, pausing before a house that faced St. 
 Patrick's graveyard. " This is Casa Di Bello, 
 the finest domicile in the colony." 
 
 It was an old-style brick dwelling of two 
 stories and attic on the northern fringe of 
 Mulberry the only house in the street 
 whose front was not gridironed with fire 
 escapes. The low stoop, iron railing, and 
 massive dadoes, the Ionian door columns of 
 hard wood, the domed vestibule and gener- 
 ous width, marked it a rare survivor of the 
 building era that passed with the stagecoach 
 and the Knickerbocker a well-preserved 
 ghost of the quarter's bygone fashion and 
 respectability. 
 
 Bertino looked up and read in bold text 
 upon a well-polished brass doorplate the 
 assuring name, " Di Bello." 
 
 " Grazie mille" he said to his guide. " I 
 am too poor to make you a present. Grazie 
 mille." 
 
 The other made off with a long face, but 
 protesting that he had not expected a pres- 
 ent for such a small service. 
 
 27
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Heartened by the nearness of a friend, 
 Bertino gave the heavy bell handle a stout 
 pull. Decorously and without undue prompt- 
 ness the broad-panelled oak swung narrowly, 
 and the mountaineer looked into the stern 
 complacency of his aunt Carolina's eyes. 
 He was too young to remember this smug 
 dame of closing forty, who had gone from 
 Cardinali twelve years before to become 
 perpetua * in the Mulberry parish rectory. 
 That peaceful career she had forsaken, for 
 reasons of which we may learn ; but the 
 eight years of churchdom were still in her 
 head. Nor had she ever lost the outward 
 badge. She was rotund and well-coloured, 
 monastic of mien, and sleek as a cathe- 
 dral rat. 
 
 "Who are you?" she asked, scanning 
 trie lad from his hobnailed soles to the tur- 
 key feather in his hat. 
 
 " I am Bertino Manconi, nephew of 
 Signer Giorgio Di Bello," he answered 
 
 * A priest's housekeeper. 
 28
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 proudly, unabashed by her poignant stare. 
 " Are you Angelica the cook ? " 
 
 When her breath came free she said : 
 " But it was to-morrow Monday." His 
 arrival one day ahead of the appointed time 
 shocked her rubric sense of order and 
 ignored her ritual of coming events. "And 
 you come to the door like a Sicilian, bag- 
 gage in hand and " 
 
 " Ha ! Welcome to my house ! " cried 
 a hearty voice at the head of the stairs. " A 
 hundred welcomes, caro nephew ! But what 
 a stupendous height ! Step aside, my sister, 
 and bid the giant enter. How is this ? At 
 the parish house did they teach you to make 
 friends wait outside ? Well, it is not so at 
 Casa Di Bello. So you are a day ahead ? 
 Well, so much the better. Ah, what a fine 
 voyage you must have had ! " 
 
 It was no longer a voice on the upper 
 floor, but the form and substance of a 
 bush-headed, chubby man of dawning fifty, 
 whose prodigious King Humbert mustache 
 quaked as he puffed down the staircase as 
 
 29
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 best his short legs would permit. He threw 
 himself upon Bertino, who had to stoop a 
 little to receive a resonant salutation on each 
 cheek. Then Carolina bestowed a pair of 
 stony kisses, first remarking with wooden 
 seemliness, " Welcome, my nephew." 
 
 At the same moment Angelica the cook, 
 a mite of a crone with a Roman nose, car- 
 ried a steaming soup into the dining room, 
 set it on the table, and called out in the 
 shrillest Genovese : 
 
 " Ecco, signori ; the minestrone is served, 
 and the most beautiful minestrone I have 
 made since the Feast of the Mother." 
 
 After his three weeks of steerage fare 
 Bertino fell upon the dinner with a zest that 
 delighted his uncle, but dismayed Carolina, 
 and caused the rims of Angelica's eyes to 
 spread until they were as round as the O of 
 Giotto. 
 
 "Well, did you stop to pick up any 
 gold in the street ? " asked Signor Di 
 Bello, winking at his sister, and sprinkling 
 grated Parmesan over a ragout of green 
 
 30
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 peppers, " I suppose you have your valise 
 filled with it." 
 
 " Ma che ! " said Bertino, holding up his 
 plate and looking wise. " Do you think I 
 am such a fool ? I don't expect to pick 
 up money ; but shall I tell you some- 
 thing ? Well, it is this : In this country I 
 shall soon make enough money to fill that 
 valise." 
 
 The others dropped their knives and forks 
 and regarded him with amazement. 
 
 " By the egg of Columbus ! " exclaimed 
 Signor Di Bello. " Are you not to work in 
 my shop ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; of course." 
 
 "Then how do you expect to make so 
 much money ? " 
 
 There was no reason for it ; but Bertino, 
 oddly enough, yielded to a sudden impulse 
 to repress the truth. Cocking his eye first 
 to the ceiling and then on the tablecloth, he 
 uttered a fib that concealed his and Arman- 
 do's darling project for selling life-size busts 
 in America.
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 The coffee served and the maraschino 
 sipped, Signor Di Bello drew the straw 
 from a Virginia and settled for a smoke, 
 while Aunt Carolina showed Bertino to 
 the room in the attic appointed for his 
 use. She unpacked his few belongings and 
 placed them tidily in a small chest of draw- 
 ers, at the same time laying before him sol- 
 emnly the parish-house rules by which she 
 governed Casa Di Bello. Had her brother 
 below stairs heard this, it is likely that he 
 would have sent up many a guffaw with 
 his smoke rings, for by him these rules had 
 received little honour save in the steady 
 nonobservance. 
 
 Carolina had never set her face against 
 Bertino's coming to the house, and there was 
 no method in the frosty greeting she had 
 given him at the door. It was merely that 
 the sight of him, standing there, bag and 
 baggage, a whole day before the time, had 
 staggered her orderly being and drawn from 
 her an instinctive protest. This all came of 
 her unruffled years as perpetua of the rectory 
 32
 
 Casa Di Bello 1 
 
 that domain of peace and even tenor, 
 whose broad, clear windows she often regard- 
 ed wistfully, looking over the churchyard 
 to Mott Street, from her sanctum on the 
 second floor. 
 
 A half decade had gone by since the 
 Wednesday of Ashes when the brother and 
 sister patched up the quarrel that had sepa- 
 rated them in their poorer days and she 
 returned to the air of laity. But the sacer- 
 dotal brand would not wear off, nor did she 
 wish it to. In the conduct of the household 
 her churchly notions had free scope enough, 
 but applied in censorship of her brother's 
 life they met with dreary contempt. To 
 no purpose did she preach when Mulberry 
 buzzed with the latest story of his gallantries, 
 for his ready argument was always an elo- 
 quent " Ma ckef" and an unanswerable 
 shrug of the shoulders. In vain did she wait 
 up, often from compline to prime, that she 
 might shame him when he came home aglow 
 with bumpers of divers vintage. It was after 
 a certain rubicund night at the Gaffe of the 
 33
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Three Gardens that he cut short her usual 
 sermon with a roaring manifesto against 
 church and state and a declaration of per- 
 sonal liberty for all time. 
 
 " Snakes of purgatory ! " he had remarked 
 in conclusion, one foot on the staircase. 
 " Am I not a man ? If you want priests, 
 go to the parish house, where you be- 
 long. Once a priest always a priest." 
 With this taunt, meant to be a parting 
 one, he toddled up to bed, but, reaching 
 the landing, stopped and called back : " If 
 you don't leave me alone, I'll bring a wife 
 here." 
 
 From that time, which was two years 
 before Bertino's arrival, she gave up her noc- 
 turnal vigils, and without let or hindrance 
 the signore feasted and drank with boon com- 
 rades, and cracked walnuts on his head with 
 an empty bottle a feat for which he was 
 justly renowned in all the caff Is of the quar- 
 ter. The lowering peril of a wife in the 
 house had set her to thinking as she had 
 never thought before on this dire possibility. 
 34
 
 Casa Di Bello 
 
 Her brother's nonconformity was a flaw in 
 her sceptre, but she knew that a wife meant 
 the utter collapse of her sovereignty in Casa 
 Di Bello. Wherefore she resolved to abide 
 by the lesser evil, and bend her strength to 
 warding off the greater. Thus it befell that 
 with the accession of Bertino to the family 
 she was not ill content. The coming of a 
 man to the board imparted no misgiving. 
 What her soul dreaded and her wits had 
 guarded against was the advent of a woman. 
 And she felicitated herself that no wife had 
 succeeded in crossing the threshold. To her 
 ever-watchful eye, she fondly believed, was 
 due the blessing of her brother's continuance 
 in the path of bachelorhood, despite the caps 
 that were set for him on every bush. The 
 first families of the Calabriani, the Siciliani, 
 and the Napolitani, along with the flower of 
 the Genovesi, the Milanesi, and the Torinesi, 
 had in turn put forth their famous beauties 
 as candidates for his hand and grocery store. 
 But they all had been driven from the Rubi- 
 con, and at present there was no pretender 
 
 35
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 in the field. Had there been she would have 
 known it, as she knew of all the other mari- 
 tal campaigns, through Angelica, who went 
 to market daily and kept in touch with Sara 
 the Frier of Pepper Pods, Mulberry's queen 
 of gossips.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A SPOT OF YELLOW PAINT 
 
 NEXT morning, while the sun gave its 
 first touch to the bronze head of Garibaldi, 
 Bertino tied on an apron and set to work in 
 Signor Di Bello's shop, that peerless grocery 
 whose small window and large door look 
 tranquilly on the Park of Paradise. For a 
 dozen years it had been known far and wide 
 among Italia's children as " The Sign of the 
 Wooden Bunch." The nickname came of a 
 piece of carved oak simulating a bunch of 
 bananas that hung before the door. In the 
 early days of his business life the padrone 
 had learned that the air of Mulberry was 
 singularly fatal to the real fruit that he put 
 on show outside. It happened some days 
 that as many as twenty bananas on one stem 
 37
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 would evaporate, though all the others re- 
 mained intact. It was always the ones near- 
 est the ground that vanished. One evening 
 it struck Signor Di Bello that a violent 
 chemical change in the exposed fruit would 
 put an end to its mysterious disintegration. 
 So he substituted the bananas of art for 
 those of Nature. The evaporation ceased 
 straightway, but for two or three mornings 
 thereafter certain small boys, on their way 
 to the Five Points Mission School, beheld 
 with bitter disappointment the oaken sym- 
 bol, and answered its grin of mockery with 
 looks of blackest disgust. 
 
 Those boys are workingmen now, and 
 when they dream of the springtimes of child- 
 hood, they see Giorgio Di Bello, paint brush 
 in hand, giving a fresh skin of yellow to the 
 make-believe bananas. It was a promise of 
 vernal roses as sure as the chirp of a bluebird 
 in the churchyard grass or the gladsome 
 advent of Simone the Sardinian with his 
 hokey-pokey cart. When the people saw 
 him giving the bunch its annual sprucing up, 
 38
 
 A Spot of Yellow Paint 
 
 they were wont to exclaim : "Bravo! Sum- 
 mer is coming. Soon we shall have music 
 in Paradise." 
 
 The morning of Bertino's dbut at the 
 shop was a bright one of young June, and 
 the baby maples of the Park were showing 
 their first dimples of green. It was the 
 blatant hour when Mulberry's street bazaar 
 is in full cry ; when the sham battle fought 
 every morning between honeyed sellers and 
 scornful buyers is in hot movement ; when 
 dimes and coppers are the vender's prize 
 against flounders, cabbages, saucepans, cali- 
 coes, apples, and shoestrings, as the stake 
 that fires the housewife's tongue and eye ; 
 when stout-lunged hucksters cut the din 
 with the siren songs their kind have sung for 
 ages in the market place. 
 
 Spick and span in the clean blouse of 
 Monday, Signor Di Bello stood on his broad 
 threshold ready for the day's trade. He had 
 just shown Bertino how to convert the prosy 
 doorway into a bower abloom with garlands 
 of freckled salame, cordons of silvery garlic, 
 
 39
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 clusters of cacciocavalli cheese ; how to hang 
 in the entry luring sheaves of wild herbs, 
 strings of hazelnuts, and the golden colo- 
 cynths that are as all must know an ano- 
 dyne for every ill. To flaunt this ravishing 
 group to the senses of the colony was 
 Bertino's first duty of the day. That ac- 
 complished, he set out on either side of the 
 doorway the tubs of tempting stockfish, the 
 black peas of Lombardy, parched tomatoes 
 and red peppers, lupini beans in fresh water, 
 ripe olives in brine, and macaroni of sundry 
 types. 
 
 Presently the foraging women, their blue- 
 and-red-skirted hips wabbling under the 
 weight of well-loaded baskets balanced on 
 their heads, began to enter the shop. Dexter- 
 ously taking down their burdens and setting 
 them on the counter, they called out their 
 wants in the varied jargons of the Peninsula. 
 Not only was Signor Di Bello equal to them, 
 one and all, but he could give back two raps 
 in the haggling set-to for every tap that he 
 received. When the morning had worn on, 
 40
 
 A Spot of Yellow Paint 
 
 and the lay of the last vender had died out, 
 he opened a small can of yellow paint, chose 
 a brush from the stock, placed it in the hand 
 of his nephew, and said : 
 
 " Nipote mio, do you see the green spots 
 on the boughs ? Well, it is time to give the 
 Bunch a new coat." 
 
 Bertino applied the colour, while his 
 uncle looked on with fond and critical eye, 
 for it was the first time he had intrusted the 
 historic task to other hands than his own. 
 Before the finishing touch had been given he 
 was called into the shop to hack off a four- 
 cent chunk of Roman cheese. A moment 
 later Bertino stepped back to survey his 
 handiwork, the brush at heedless poise 
 Mulberry's sidewalks are narrow and teem- 
 ing when an angry voice fairly stung his 
 ear : 
 
 " Guarda, donkey ! What are you 
 about?" 
 
 He turned and looked into the blazing 
 eyes of a tall young woman, whose full- 
 powered beauty startled him more than her 
 4 41
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 words had done, and for the moment his 
 tongue had no speech. 
 
 " Clumsy dog ! Why don't you look?" 
 she began again, drawing out a gingham 
 handkerchief of purple and putting it to her 
 face. On her cheek, just where the flush 
 faded in the rich tawn of her skin, was a spot 
 of yellow as strangely there as though some 
 fool had tried to adorn a radiant blossom. 
 
 " But excuse me ; a thousand pardons. 
 I did not see you," he blurted. " I did not 
 see you, veramente, signorina beautiful 
 signorina." 
 
 " Bah ! " she flung back. " Where are 
 your eyes, calf of a countryman ? " 
 
 He watched her as she sailed away above 
 the heads of Mulberry's little brown maids 
 and matrons, and for hours afterward felt 
 the spell of her massing black tresses, her 
 proud step, and the rugged poetry of her 
 plenteous line. 
 
 Small matters these a spot of fortuitous 
 colour, flashing eyes among a people who 
 are always flashing, and a mountaineer with 
 42
 
 A Spot of Yellow Paint 
 
 youth in his veins thinking about a well-knit 
 and warm-hued maid who has proved her 
 fire with a blistering tongue. But in the 
 light of all that has come and gone, that 
 stain of yellow may not be wiped out from 
 this record of the warring dilemmas that 
 sharpened the lives of certain little people of 
 the little world wherein we have set foot. 
 
 43
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 JUNO THE SUPERB 
 
 " O dolce Napoli, 
 O suol beato, 
 Ove sorridere, 
 Voile il creato ; 
 Tu sei 1'impero 
 Dell 'armonia 
 Santa Lucia ! 
 Santa Lucia ! " 
 
 SIGNOR GRABBINI, impresario of the 
 theatre of La Scala, resolved to give up his 
 valiant but ruinous fight for the legitimate 
 drama. Such pieces as Othello, Francesca 
 da Rimini, The Count of Monte Cristo, 
 acted with a complete cast, had proved a 
 strain too severe for the treasury as well 
 as for the capacity of his ten-foot stage. 
 In scenes where the entire company was 
 " on," the jam became so great that spirited 
 44
 
 Juno the Superb 
 
 pushing set in, each actor aiming to hold 
 that part of the stage allotted to him by 
 the playbook. In the struggle, conducted 
 sometimes with stealthy art, that the audi- 
 ence might not be aware, toes were trodden 
 upon and tempers badly stirred. Thus it 
 happened that after the curtain had rolled 
 down, the ladies and gentlemen of the com- 
 pany were likely to fall to shaking their fists 
 at one another, naturally to the delight of 
 the audience, who could hear the wordy 
 battle very distinctly. Wherefore Signer 
 Grabbini decided to change the policy of his 
 theatre. 
 
 One night he stepped before the curtain 
 to make the momentous announcement. 
 Before he could open his mouth a sailor- 
 man, red as Hiawatha, reached over from 
 the wicketed parapet of the gallery and 
 cried : 
 
 " A clasp of the hand, comrade ! " 
 With a gallery so low as that it were 
 folly to court dignity, so the little man 
 shook the big hand and then began his 
 45
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 speech, which he punctuated with glances 
 at a piece of white paper that he held. In 
 glittering words he set forth the motives 
 that animated him in deciding upon a 
 change from the plan of amusement that 
 had been so successful, so profitable to him- 
 self, and so agreeable to the signori of the 
 company. But it was because he wished 
 to serve better, to captivate even more the 
 highly esteemed, the eminent, the generous 
 Italian colony, that in the future there 
 would be no five-act tragedies, but a veri- 
 table banquet every night of short comedies 
 oh, so laughable ! from the pens of the 
 world's greatest dramatists, in the true Ital- 
 ian as well as the dialect of sweet Naples. 
 
 " Bravoes ! " from all over the theatre put 
 a stop to the speech for a moment. Men 
 in the orchestra pens leaned over the edge 
 of the stage and lit their cigarettes at the 
 footlights, and, taking advantage of the 
 pause, the meal-cake man shouted his wares. 
 
 " But this is not all, my friends," went 
 on Signor Grabbini. 
 
 46
 
 Juno the Superb 
 
 A fresh shower of bravoes. 
 
 " Keep your feet off my head ! " cried a 
 man in the pit to one in the gallery. 
 
 " Bah ! " gave back the other, drawing in 
 a huge boot between the wickets ; " in this 
 theatre one can not stretch his legs." 
 
 " Silence ! Hear the impresario / " 
 
 " Beginning on Sunday night," said the 
 man on the stage, " I shall have the distinct 
 honour of presenting to the highly discrimi- 
 nating taste of the most esteemed and emi- 
 nent patrons of La Scala an extraordinary 
 singer of canzonets." 
 
 " Bravo, Signor Grabbini ! " 
 
 " Silence ! " 
 
 " Meal cakes ! A soldo each ! " 
 
 " Silence, thou donkey ! " 
 
 " With your permission, ladies and gen- 
 tlemen," the impresario went on, bowing 
 low, " I will proceed. The artist to whom 
 I have referred is ah ! my friends she is 
 an angel of delight a glorious type, a crea- 
 ture magnificent. My word of honour, the 
 most beautiful woman in New York nay, 
 47
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 in all America. To the artistic world she is 
 known as Juno the Superb. Pay strict at- 
 tention, my compatriots. The evening of 
 the Feast of Sunday will indeed be an occa- 
 sion most extraordinary, for it is my hon- 
 oured privilege to inform you that in ad- 
 dition to the famous comedies and the 
 exquisite Juno, there will be an oyster cook 
 in the audience under the especial adminis- 
 tration of the management, who will pre- 
 pare soups of sea fruit in true Neapolitan 
 style and at prices the most moderate." 
 
 " Bravissimo ! " 
 
 "Meal " 
 
 " Silence ! Evviva the oyster cook ! " 
 
 "With these my humble words, highly 
 prized patrons, I will conclude, and from 
 the depth of my heart beg you to accept 
 my most cordial gratitude, and the assurance 
 that in the future as well as the past you 
 will find me ever alert to serve faithfully 
 and to the plenitude of my power the 
 highly esteemed, the eminent, the generous 
 Italian colony."
 
 Juno the Superb 
 
 " Long live the impresario ! " was rained 
 from all parts as he backed off, salaaming. 
 
 " Evviva Juno the Superb ! " piped one 
 voice. 
 
 " And the oyster soup ! " thundered a 
 Sicilian hod-carrier. 
 
 At length the curtain was raised on the 
 last act of the tragedy, and the knights and 
 ladies, buffoons and sages, soldiers and hunts- 
 men, began moving about the stage gin- 
 gerly, with great skill avoiding collision as 
 they crossed or ducking their heads when 
 they made exits, hurried or slow, through 
 the dollhouse doors. 
 
 On the Feast of Sunday a packed thea- 
 tre bore witness to the wisdom of Signor 
 Grabbini's change of policy. From the base- 
 board of the stage, which was fringed by a 
 row of shrubby black heads, to the last tier 
 of benches there was no vacant seat. The 
 first of the short comedies was reeled off 
 without a single toe trodden on, since it 
 required only five dramatis persona. Not 
 a joke went begging, for the audience heard 
 49
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 them all twice first from the prompter, 
 who bawled them from his little green coop 
 at the footlights, and again from the mouths 
 of the actors. 
 
 Next came the star of the evenirfg, Juno 
 the Superb. As the orchestra blaring its 
 brass struck up the prelude of her song, 
 Signor Di Bello entered the tiny proscenium 
 box and dropped into a chair. The fame of 
 her plethoric beauty had reached him, as the 
 impresario had taken good care it should 
 reach many an appreciative masculine ear. 
 He was a very different-looking man to- 
 night from the Signor Di Bello of business 
 hours, clad in a long drab blouse, hacking 
 Parmesan and weighing macaroni. Now 
 he showed brave in snowy shirt front of 
 bulging expanse, large diamond, black coat, 
 white waistcoat, lavender trousers, and a 
 gorgeous bouquet stuck under his left 
 cheek. 
 
 When she appeared in the glare of the 
 lights, draped frankly in the odd colours and 
 tinsel frippery of the Campania peasant 
 
 50
 
 Juno the Superb 
 
 maid as she is seen nowhere but on the 
 stage it was plain that the impresario had 
 made an intelligent guess. Her exuberant 
 charms were sufficient to deal even that 
 audience a start. The men caught their 
 breath, and the women made wry faces. 
 Had they possessed eyes for anything but 
 Juno, they would have seen that the grocer 
 in the box was smitten hard by the sudden 
 picture of billowing womanhood and glow- 
 ing flesh tint. " Ah, what beauty ! " he 
 breathed, leaning farther over the rail, deep 
 in the spell of her great hazel eyes, the 
 peony of her cheeks, the soft tawn of her 
 neck, and shoulders that shaded down to 
 clearest amber. " Pomegranates and hid- 
 den rosebuds ! By the egg of Columbus ! " 
 And in truth she was, as every man had 
 to own, as fine a woman as ever came out of 
 Italy or any other country. But this did not 
 keep their teeth off edge when she began to 
 voice " Santa Lucia," that evergreen canzonet 
 of Naples. She pitched upon a key that baf- 
 fled the orchestra. The leader stamped his
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 foot and shifted tones in vain. Only deaf 
 ears could have failed to perceive that it was 
 her generous friend Nature and not art that 
 had opened to her the stage door. 
 
 " Madonna Maria ! " was the criticism of 
 Luigia the Garlic Woman. "She has the 
 voice of a hungry goat on a foggy morn- 
 ing." 
 
 But there was one pair of eardrums on 
 which her bleating did not grate. They be- 
 longed to Signor Di Bello, in calmer mo- 
 ments a man of very good hearing. But he 
 was stone deaf now. Before the Levantine 
 charms of this thrilling creature all his senses 
 were absorbed in sight. 
 
 " Brava, bravissimaf" he shouted at the 
 interlude. " Oh, simpaticone ! " 
 
 " What a whale she is ! " said a phthisic 
 cigarette girl to her promised husband, who 
 heard her not. 
 
 " An ugly figure she makes, truly," 
 
 sneered a barber's wife to her husband. " A 
 
 big cow like that in the frock of a child ! 
 
 No honest woman, one sees easily. And 
 
 52
 
 Juno the Superb 
 
 look, Adriano ! Her nose ! I find it similar 
 to the snout of Signora Grametto's little 
 black-faced dog." 
 
 There was no gainsaying this bold touch 
 of the Supreme Sculptor's realism. Glorious 
 her black tresses, delectable her form and 
 colour, uptilting and ample her nose. 
 
 The canzonet ended, she walked off with- 
 out bowing to or glancing at the audience, 
 but the men, one and all, their eye thirst 
 still unslaked, joined in Signor Di Bello's 
 frantic demand for an encore. On she came 
 with stolid countenance and began the song 
 all over again, although the women had set 
 up a hissing that matched the strength of 
 the applause. Signor Di Bello called the 
 flower girl into the box, bought an arm- 
 ful of her wares, and threw them wildly on 
 the stage. They fell in a shower on all sides 
 of Juno. Instantly she stopped, put her 
 arms akimbo, and while the orchestra played 
 on, glared blackly at her vehement admirer. 
 Flowers for a Neapolitan of the Porto ! 
 Blossoms that have poison in their breath ! 
 53
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Stupid Di Bello! Stupid Genovese ! Twelve 
 years in Mulberry, and to forget the hatred 
 that Neapolitans of Naples have for natural 
 blooms ! Perhaps you thought she was 
 from the country, like most of the people 
 there. Bah ! In such a serious matter one 
 ought to be sure. 
 
 It was the women's golden chance. They 
 started a titter of derisive laughter that be- 
 came a gale and swept through the theatre. 
 Juno moved toward the box, trampling the 
 odious flowers, and spat in the face of Signer 
 Di Bello. Then she left the stage, followed 
 by an outpour of boorish gibes. 
 
 " Infame ! infame!" It was the voice 
 of Bertino, crying loudly from the last row 
 of benches, under the gallery hard by the 
 door. With a firing emotion that he did 
 not know was the green fever, he had 
 watched the doings of his uncle, and when 
 the bright colours rained about her, brushing 
 her cheeks and hair, and whisking her shoul- 
 ders, he thought with a heart-fall of the 
 wretched blossom his hand had bestowed a 
 
 54
 
 Juno the Superb 
 
 week before at the Wooden Bunch. Madre 
 Santissima! His uncle kissed her with 
 lovely flowers, and he, miserable soul, kissed 
 her with a spot of yellow paint. But when 
 the people laughed and sneered, and he saw 
 her anger kindle, her cause was his own. 
 The pigs and sons of pigs ! To laugh at 
 her ! At his queen, the amoroso, of his 
 dreamland, by sunglow and starshine, asleep 
 or at work. Grander than the dames of 
 Genoa palaces, more beautiful than the 
 peaches of California. And his uncle ! The 
 old mooncalf ! He was the cause of it all. 
 Served him right that kiss she gave him 
 back. Ha-ha ! But these jeers, these hounds 
 yelping at his queen ! " Infame ! infame !" 
 The people thought he meant it for 
 Juno, and took up the cry, which did not 
 subside until the Bay of Naples and the cone 
 of Vesuvius rolled up from the bottom, and 
 the second comedy began. Signer Di Bello 
 had no appetite for this, and he left the box, 
 passing out amid the nudges and snickers of 
 the first families of the Genovesi, Milanesi, 
 
 55
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 and Torinesi, who were there in force along 
 with the flower of the Calabriani, Napoli- 
 tani, and Siciliani. But he put a good face 
 on the matter, and at the door hailed the 
 impresario : 
 
 " Ha, Signor Grabbini ! Your singer 
 has at least one liquid tone." And he dis- 
 appeared, chuckling.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE FIRST LAD Y 
 
 THE following night, and every night of 
 the week, Signor Di Bello held forth ecstatic- 
 ally in the box at La Scala. But the warmth 
 of his demonstrations for Juno was unable 
 to melt the frost that her dreadful voice had 
 caused to settle on the audience a frost 
 that grew thicker with each new display of 
 her copious self. From his bench under the 
 gallery Bertino was a witness of his uncle's 
 frantic courtship, and the green fever fairly 
 consumed him, for he had decided that Juno 
 was made for him, and that neither his uncle 
 nor any one else should have her for wife. 
 In the matter of courting he too had not 
 been idle, though he was young enough to 
 know better than to make a public show of 
 s 57
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 his addresses. More than once it had oc- 
 curred that while Signor Di Bello took his 
 ease in the Gaffe of the Three Gardens of an 
 afternoon, Juno and Bertino passed a quarter 
 of an hour together in the grocery. With a 
 black mantilla of cheap lace thrown over her 
 head, instead of the accustomed shawl that 
 maids of Mulberry wear on working days, 
 she visited the shop for her supply of salame, 
 lupine beans, or the goat's-milk cheese of 
 which she told Bertino she was very fond. 
 The first time she entered, his heart leaped 
 and he began stammering excuses for the 
 spot of yellow he had given her cheek at 
 their last meeting. Would the beautiful 
 signorina believe that it was all an accident, 
 clumsy calf that he was a mishap most 
 stupid ? He begged her to forgive him. 
 Would she not ? Oh, how happy it would 
 make him ! 
 
 " Bah ! " she answered, looking him over. 
 " Give me good weight of salame and free 
 measure of beans." 
 
 Clearly, the weight and measure that he 
 58
 
 The First Lady 
 
 gave suited her, for she came every after- 
 noon thereafter, but never when Signor Di 
 Bello happened to be in the shop. One day 
 he said to her : 
 
 " Every night I dream of you." 
 
 "Ah, si?" she replied, arching her rich 
 brows. "And every night I dream. Shall 
 I tell you of what ? " 
 
 " Of me ?" breathed Bertino. 
 
 " Of you ? Simpleton ! I dream of get- 
 ting out of this hogpen. Blood of San Gen- 
 naro ! Do you think I came to America 
 to live a life like this ? Wait until I have 
 money in the Bank of Risparmio." 
 
 " But, signorina, I love you." 
 
 " Love ! What good is that ? It may 
 do for these animals to live on. For me, 
 no. When I marry I shall become a grand 
 signora." 
 
 On the fifth day of their acquaintance 
 she told him her troubles. Five dollars a 
 week was all she got at La Scala, and Sig- 
 nor Grabbini a man most stingy kept 
 back two of that for the dress, the scarlet 
 59
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 slippers, and the pink tights. Don't talk to 
 her of America as a place to make money. 
 What a pigsty was Mulberry ! Her room, 
 which she hired of Luigia the Garlic Woman, 
 was smaller and darker than any she ever 
 had in Naples. And what did it cost ? A 
 whole dollar every week ! Five liras for a 
 room ! Merciful Madonna ! 
 
 " Listen," said Bertino, coming from be- 
 hind the counter and walking with her to 
 the door ; " I want you for my wife. Marry 
 me, and you shall live in the finest house in 
 Mulberry in Casa Di Bello." 
 
 " What have you to do with that house ? " 
 she asked quickly. 
 
 " I live there." 
 
 " But it belongs to Signor Di Bello." 
 
 " Yes ; I am his nephew." 
 
 A new interest awoke in her wary and 
 artful eye. " They say he is very rich," she 
 mused, looking toward the patch of green in 
 Paradise. " He admires my singing very 
 much." 
 
 " Your singing ! Bah!" Berti no's love 
 60
 
 The First Lady 
 
 was not deaf. " Don't you know why he 
 makes a baboon of himself when you are on 
 the stage ? You have turned his old head 
 with your beauty." 
 
 " I don't believe you," she said absently, 
 while there came into her mind an extrava- 
 gant avowal of love that Signor Di Bello 
 had made to her behind the scenes the night 
 before. "Well, he is rich," she went on, 
 " and you are poor." 
 
 "True; I am not rich now, but I shall 
 be soon. Ha ! Do you know how I am 
 going to make money ? I do not tell every- 
 body not even my uncle but I will tell 
 you. I have a friend in Italy, at Cardinali. 
 Do you know the place ? No matter. My 
 friend is what is called a sculptor, and he is 
 going to make statues oh, so fine ! of 
 great people in this country. Now, it is I 
 who am to tell him what to make. When 
 I have made up my mind, I shall send him 
 the picture of some great American some 
 famous man and from this he will make a 
 marble bust. The marble is all ready. 
 61
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 When it is done he will send it to me, and 
 I shall well, perhaps I shall put it in some 
 fine gallery like our Palazzo Rosso in Genoa. 
 Ah, what a place that is ! I was there once 
 on the Feast of the Child. Now, my friend 
 is a sculptor most wonderful. I know what 
 he can do. You should see his beautiful 
 Juno and the Peacock. If you 
 
 " Juno and the Peacock ? " she broke in. 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " Ah ! a lady most beautiful, without 
 any clothes, and a great bird with a long 
 tail. Oh, how beautiful as beautiful as 
 you!" 
 
 "Veramente?" 
 
 " I tell you the truth. Now, when the 
 people of America see the bust that he shall 
 send, what do you think they will do ? Why, 
 they will be mad for it, and some rich man 
 will buy it. I have not yet made up my 
 mind how much I shall make him pay. Not 
 less than a thousand liras, of that you may 
 be sure. But this will be only the begin- 
 ning. After that Armando will make more 
 62
 
 The First Lady 
 
 busts, the rich ladies and gentlemen will 
 continue to buy, and who knows ? Ber- 
 tino Manconi may become a millionaire. 
 Now will you be my wife ? " 
 
 " He has made one Juno," she said, her 
 thought set on a single phase of his chimera 
 that whomever he chose for the subject, 
 after that person a bust would be fashioned. 
 " Since he has made one Juno, why not let 
 him make another ? " She said it seriously, 
 without guile. " Oh, so many photographs 
 I had taken in Naples ! Here, none ; I am 
 too poor. Next week I shall have some. 
 But how fine I should look in marble ! I 
 have thought of it many a time. Ah, pro- 
 prio bella, neh ? " 
 
 " You would make the finest bust in the 
 world," he said ardently. 
 
 " I think so myself," she nodded, draw- 
 ing the mantilla under her chin and moving 
 away with her package of freely weighed 
 codfish. He watched her until she turned 
 into the mouth of the Alley of the Moon, 
 whereon her lodgings looked, and the idea 
 61
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 that she had put into his head took deeper 
 hold. 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked the tub of olives 
 at the door. " Is there a more beautiful 
 woman in America? It is settled. To- 
 morrow I shall say to her, ' Carissima Juno, 
 when you are my wife I will send your pic- 
 ture to Armando, that you may be the first 
 bust.' " 
 
 He stood in the doorway gazing out on 
 the park, assured now that she must be his 
 for what greater honour could man show 
 to woman ? when his eye met the bronze 
 presence of Italy's liberator. A withered 
 wreath of laurel, with which the Italian 
 societies had crowned their hero on his last 
 birthday, had dropped over the head and 
 become a lopsided necklace. Bertino saw 
 the half-drawn sword, the bared arm, the 
 conquering air, and his promise to Armando 
 came back : 
 
 " It shall be some one as great as Gari- 
 baldi." 
 
 Thus it fell out that the following after- 
 64
 
 The First Lady 
 
 noon, when Juno came to the shop for 
 garlic and spaghetti, and told him that of 
 all things she would like to see herself in 
 marble, he said : " No ; it would be false to 
 my friend." 
 
 " And you say you dream of me ? " 
 " By night and by day." 
 " And you love me ? " 
 "Ah, si\ Madonna knows." 
 " Still you will not do me this favour?" 
 " But it is to be the bust of a man." 
 " Bah ! Why not a woman ? " 
 " No, no ; I can not. It would be 
 treachery to Armando." 
 
 None the less, she had spoken the words 
 that sealed the fate of the bust. " Why not 
 a woman, indeed ? " Bertino asked himself 
 when she had gone. " But it must be the 
 greatest as well as the handsomest woman 
 in America." He thought of the picture of 
 the President's wife that he had seen one 
 night at an illustrated Italian lecture in the 
 Hudson Mission. " By San Giorgio ! " he 
 exclaimed, astonished at the grandeur of his 
 65
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 own idea. " A bust of her Majesty, the 
 First Lady of America ! This is the best 
 thing I ever thought of." 
 
 The next day was one of vast import. 
 Not only did it witness the purchase by 
 Bertino in a Bowery store of a small photo- 
 graph of the President's wife, warranted 
 genuine, but it brought to the ears of Aunt 
 Carolina news that made her tremble for 
 Casa Di Bello. From the market place An- 
 gelica bore the gossip that was fast reaching 
 every niche and turn of Mulberry the great 
 tidings that Signer Di Bello and Juno the 
 Superb had been seen the night before in 
 the Caffe of the Beautiful Sicilian sitting 
 at the same table eating a ragout of spiced 
 pigskin. 
 
 " It must be stopped ! " declared Caro- 
 lina, setting her gold-patched teeth. The 
 old bugaboo of a wife arose, as it did with 
 any woman to whom the running voice of 
 the colony linked her brother's name. " He 
 shall never bring that Neapolitan baggage 
 to Casa Di Bello." 
 
 66
 
 The First Lady 
 
 That night, after dinner, from which her 
 brother was absent, she hung long gold pend- 
 ants in her ears, fastened her lace collar with 
 a large cameo brooch, and, her puce-coloured 
 silk all arustle, went to reconnoitre, as she 
 always did when the sky of her dominion 
 was threatened with a wife. It was a rare 
 sight to see Signorina Di Bello abroad at 
 night, afoot in the heart of Mulberry, and 
 people stared in wonder or bowed reverently 
 as she passed by. A half-hour afterward, 
 when the Bay of Naples and smoking Vesu- 
 vius made way for Juno on the stage of La 
 Scala, three shoots of the Di Bello stock 
 were intent beholders Giorgio in the box, 
 Bertino on his bench under the gallery, and 
 Carolina in a seat directly overhead, where 
 her brother could not see her. With ears 
 stopped, but eyes wide open, the priestly 
 dame surveyed with alarm the expansive glo- 
 ries of Juno, and regarded with dismay the 
 rhapsody of Signer Di Bello. If she knew 
 her brother, and she was confident that she 
 did, here was a woman who could have him 
 67
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 for a husband. Thoughtfully she walked 
 home, and thoughtfully she sought her pil- 
 low. 
 
 From the land of sleep there came no 
 helpful message, and in the morning she sat 
 before her sanctum window still pondering 
 what to do. Over the forest of gray shafts 
 that marked the sepulchres in St. Patrick's 
 Churchyard she gazed sadly at the broad 
 windows of the rectory where she had lived 
 those years of sweetest order and tranquil- 
 ity, where husbands and wives had no part 
 in life's economy, where marrying woman 
 and wedlocking man jarred not the placid 
 liturgy of her days. Suddenly the door 
 swung wide, and Angelica panted into the 
 room. As fast as her short legs could wad- 
 dle she had come from the market place with 
 a basket full of fresh vegetables and a head 
 full of dewy scandal. 
 
 " O signorina ! The shame ! " she gasped. 
 " Truly a disgrace tremendous ! Mulberry 
 talks of naught else. I speak of what I 
 68
 
 The First Lady 
 
 know, for it comes straight from the lips of 
 Sara the Frier of Pepper Pods, who had it 
 first from Simone the Snail Boiler." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " A grand shame ! Signor Di Bello is 
 betrothed to the Neapolitan singer ! " 
 
 "Juno the Superb?" 
 
 " Si, signorina. Oh, the disgrace ! " 
 
 " Misericordia, Santa Maria ! " 
 
 " And the day is set. Luigia the Garlic 
 Vender says it, and ' 
 
 "For when?" 
 
 "The Feast of Januarius." 
 
 "The baggage!" said Carolina, her aus- 
 tere calm all gone. " That's her doing. A 
 Genovese to be married on the Feast of St. 
 Januarius ! By the mass, we shall see ! " 
 
 Even as the bottled blood of Naples's 
 patron saint boils once a year, so did the 
 corked emotions of Carolina begin to bub- 
 ble. Clearly the hour for action had come. 
 It was not the first time that a war cloud of 
 matrimony had darkened her sky, and she 
 buckled for the onset with a veteran heart. 
 69
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 She plumed herself on having outwitted and 
 driven to retreat more than a dozen pretend- 
 ers to her brother's hand. Once it was the 
 daughter of Pescoli the Undertaker, a ripe 
 maid of barn-owl face and sinewy pattern, 
 famed for settling disputes with the neigh- 
 bours pugnis et calcibus ; but Carolina pitted 
 brain against brawn, and this terror bit the 
 dust. Next came the red Milanese, widow 
 of Baroni the merchant in secondhand bread. 
 In her hand she brought her husband's ten 
 years' savings for dowry, and on her apricot 
 face, still fresh, her everblooming smile ; 
 she, too, was outgeneralled by Carolina, as 
 were many other would-be wives as fast as 
 they showed their heads. At least, so it 
 seemed to Carolina. That she held her place 
 as mistress of Casa Di Bello, she firmly be- 
 lieved, was due solely to the fact of her 
 never - flagging vigilance. But it may be 
 guessed that her brother's side of the story 
 would have dimmed her self-glory as a match- 
 breaker. Once he said to her, spicing the 
 sentiment with a dry laugh : 
 
 70
 
 The First Lady 
 
 " Do you think I can't admire a fine 
 woman without giving her a wedding ring ? " 
 
 But from the watchtower of her ever- 
 present dread the petticoats that she espied 
 were always signals of real danger, however 
 he might laugh them to false alarms. Where- 
 fore she felt that she must take up the 
 cudgels against Juno as she had raised them 
 against other women, and that without de- 
 lay. The teeming line and colour of the 
 Neapolitan were clear in her memory, and she 
 knew a stronger siege than ever had been 
 laid to her brother's taste. Henceforth eter- 
 nal alertness would be the price of Signor 
 Di Bello's bachelorhood and her own reign, 
 which she took as a most serious matter. 
 Alas ! it was the same old battle. Would 
 the struggle never end ? And this ever- 
 returning necessity of standing watch and 
 ward, of fighting away aspirants for wedding 
 rings, rose before her now in an unwonted 
 light, as a penance that ought not to be laid 
 upon her, as one that she would like to put 
 off. She could see herself all her days beat-
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 ing back would-be wives from the portals of 
 Casa Di Bello, and the troubled outlook 
 weighted her spirit with despair. A yearning 
 for peace entered her soul, and with it came 
 the thought of a startling alternative for war 
 a voice telling her to do the very thing 
 that she had fought so long against her 
 brother's doing. Take a wife ! But her 
 taking a wife, she mused smugly, should be 
 quite a different matter from his taking one. 
 The maid of her choosing would be no men- 
 ace to the status quo of Casa Di Bello. She 
 would be a person of right notions, not 
 puffed with the foolish conceit of being able 
 to govern the household ; a ragazza with 
 good sense enough to see that a wife's place 
 under the connubial roof is far inferior to that 
 of her husband's sister. Ah ! the wife of her 
 choice, she told herself fondly, should be 
 her creature, not a ruler ; a subject, not a 
 trampler, of her parish-house laws. It never 
 struck Carolina's mind to seek her ideal 
 among the girls of New Italy ; that would 
 be calling for aid to the camp of the enemy. 
 
 72
 
 The First Lady 
 
 Her fancy took wing over seas to old Italy, 
 to Apennine maids untinged of the craft and 
 airs of Mulberry ; to some maid of clay that 
 would shape easy in the mould of her wish. 
 When Bertino came in at noon from the 
 shop, she began : 
 
 " You have a sister ? " 
 
 "Si; Marianna." 
 
 " Very well. What kind of a girl is 
 she?" 
 
 "A fine girl." 
 
 " Is she sound in health ?" 
 
 "Ah, si; very sound." 
 
 "How big is she ?" 
 
 " Medium size." 
 
 "Gentle and kind?" 
 
 " Yes, very gentle." 
 
 "How old?" 
 
 " Let me think. She will be seventeen 
 come the Feast of the Mother." 
 
 "Any bad traits?" 
 
 " Not a single one, except that she eats 
 too much molasses." 
 
 " What work does she ?" 
 6 73
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " Straw-plaiting." 
 
 " Do you think she would like to come 
 to America ? " 
 
 " Not unless unless 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Not unless Armando came." 
 
 "Armando? An amante, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes, aunt ; her amante" 
 
 " Bah ! " Her spinster mind did not count 
 this a serious matter. " Perhaps I shall send 
 for her." 
 
 " She wouldn't leave Armando." 
 
 " Then I might go and bring her." 
 
 "What do you want of her ?" ventured 
 Bertino. 
 
 " Some day you shall see." 
 
 74
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CAROLINA RESOLVES TO GO* COURTING 
 
 UPON the facts brought out Carolina 
 decided that Marianna would do very well. 
 But the leap was far too hazardous to be 
 taken in the dark, and the prudence that 
 guided her in the selection of other house- 
 hold belongings she would now bring to 
 bear in choosing a wife. If needs be, she 
 would journey to Italy, and make sure by a 
 close survey of Marianna that hers was not 
 a nature likely to attempt a ruling of the 
 roost. To the Jesuitry of her view, a wife of 
 eighteen and a husband of gloaming forty 
 were well mated when their union would 
 serve her own most laudable purpose ; and 
 as for any trifling obstacle like a sweetheart, 
 that could be filliped away. Once upon the 
 
 75
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 ground, and satisfied that the girl would 
 prove a wife of the desired brand, she had 
 no doubt of accomplishing the shipment of 
 the goods. But there set in a fear for the 
 turn events might take during her absence. 
 With the sentinel gone from the gate, Juno 
 might charge and carry the castle. Here 
 was a danger that must be offset. 
 
 Throwing a plaid shawl over her head 
 and not stopping to change her open-heeled 
 house slippers, she set forth through the ruck 
 of Mulberry for the shop of her brother. It 
 was a novel sight to behold her hopping 
 over curbstones in that unstately manner, 
 and hot grew the scandalous guesses as to 
 the cause. 
 
 " Trouble, grand trouble in Casa Di 
 Bello," was the common voice. 
 
 As Carolina hurried forward she had no 
 eye for the signs of opening summer on 
 every hand the fire escapes abloom with 
 potted verdure, the blithe touch that glisten- 
 ing radishes gave to the vegetable stalls, the 
 moon face of Chiara the Basilican beaming
 
 Carolina Resolves to go Courting 
 
 from her bower of dandelion leaves. Pass- 
 ing the schoolhouse, she received a reverent 
 bow and a low " Buon giorno " from the 
 hokey-pokey man, who stood by his dazzling 
 cart, ready for the onslaught of boys and 
 girls, who would soon be out at recess clam- 
 ouring for one-cent dabs of pink sorbetto 
 on strips of brown paper. Little maidens 
 decked in snowy frocks and veils walked 
 proudly to their first communion, all mind- 
 ful of their skirts as they passed the racks 
 of Boccanegra the Macaroni Baker, whose 
 new-made paste hung drying in the sun- 
 shine ; but of them Carolina took no heed, 
 so wrapped was she in her great project of 
 courting a suitable wife. 
 
 At Bayard Street the sound of voices 
 raised in a familiar anthem caught her ear, 
 and there swung into view from around the 
 corner a handful of marching men. They 
 were members of the Genovese Society, 
 garbed bravely in the uniform of Italian 
 infantry, out to celebrate the Feast of St. 
 George, of all holidays the dearest to Genoa. 
 
 77
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 At sight of them the cloud of anxiety that 
 had shadowed her face lifted, and she smiled 
 with a shrewd content. The Feast of San 
 Giorgio ! Her brother's birthday as well as 
 the day of the knight who carved the dragon. 
 The alarm sounded by Angelica concerning 
 Juno had driven the fact from her head, but 
 there came back with it now a heartsome 
 consciousness that it was a day of rockribbed 
 truth in her brother's life. If at other times 
 his promises might have the frailty of spa- 
 ghetti sticks, she knew that it would not be 
 so on this, his saint's day. It had ever been 
 so with the men of Genoa. With renewed 
 spirits she foresaw the success of her plan to 
 exact from him a pledge not to marry until 
 she should return from Italy. Such a prom- 
 ise or any other made to-day he would 
 keep, though all the maids and widows of 
 Mulberry united to make him disregard it. 
 
 She found him alone at the shop, sprawled 
 
 outside beneath the Wooden Bunch in his 
 
 curve-backed chair, bathing in the sunshine. 
 
 Only on rare and critical occasions did she 
 
 78
 
 Carolina Resolves to go Courting 
 
 visit the shop, and the sight of her brought 
 him quickly to his feet. 
 
 " Governo ladro!" he exclaimed. "What 
 has happened ? " 
 
 " I am going to Italy." 
 
 "To Itajy ! What for?" 
 
 " It is twelve years since I heard the 
 chimes of San Lorenzo." 
 
 " Yes ; I think so," he said, going behind 
 the counter, shaving off a piece of Roman 
 cheese and tossing it into his mouth. " When 
 do you set off ? " 
 
 "As soon as possible." 
 
 " There is a ship for Genoa to-morrow," 
 he said eagerly. 
 
 Looking him in the eye, she asked, " Are 
 you betrothed to the Napolitana ? " 
 
 " Satan the crocodile ! " he roared, pound- 
 ing the counter. " This is too much ! Do 
 you count me a simpleton ? " 
 
 " Promise me, caro fratello, that you will 
 not take a wife until I return." 
 
 " By the Egg, I will not promise ! Do 
 you think I don't know this is my birthday ? 
 
 79
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Suppose the ship went down ? I should 
 have to live and die a bachelor." 
 
 " Promise at least that you will marry no 
 one for three months." 
 
 " Ma che f What nonsense is this ? Are 
 you afraid of the Napolitana? Bah ! How 
 foolish you are ! A fine woman, yes. But 
 do you think I don't know what I am about?" 
 
 " Promise for three months." 
 
 " Si, si, if you wish it ; but it is all grand 
 nonsense." 
 
 " Do you know what I am going to do in 
 Italy ? " she asked, with an essay at archness 
 that was a sorry failure. 
 
 " Hunt a husband?" he chuckled. 
 
 " No ; a wife." 
 
 " What shall you do with her ? " he asked 
 gravely, scenting the truth. 
 
 " Bring her to you, my brother." 
 
 " To me ! Excuse me ; keep her for 
 yourself. That is an affair I shall attend to 
 when the time comes." 
 
 " But in Mulberry you can not get what 
 I shall bring you from Italy." 
 80
 
 Carolina Resolves to go Courting 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 "A wife that is good enough for you 
 and Casa Di Bello." 
 
 "Bah! What do you tell me?" he 
 growled, walking to the door. "Talk to 
 me about wives ! They are as thick as the 
 sparrows in Paradise, and just as hungry. 
 Good, fine wives, too." He dropped into 
 the chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, 
 and extended his little legs. " Who is she ?" 
 he asked after a while, twirling his huge 
 mustache. 
 
 " Marianna. Don't you remember her ? 
 Bertino's foster sister. A fine young girl ; 
 no bad habits and sound in health." 
 
 "What age?" 
 
 " Eighteen." 
 
 " You'd better buy your passage ticket," 
 he said, " if you wish to go on to-morrow's 
 ship." 
 
 81
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A FLUTTER IN THE TOMATO BANK 
 
 WITH a step almost frisky Carolina took 
 leave of her brother, well content with the 
 first fruit of her wooing. She had won the 
 consent of her husband elect to wait for her 
 bride, and the rest of the courtship seemed 
 a matter of plain sailing ; wherefore she 
 hastened across the Park to the steamship 
 office and bank of Signor Tomato to secure 
 her passage for Genoa. The glow of tri- 
 umph was upon her. She felt it a certainty 
 now that her will would prevail in match- 
 making as it had so many times in match- 
 breaking ; and this desirable condition, she 
 reflected, was merely as it should be only 
 the reward that the just had a right to 
 count upon receiving. Had she not eaten 
 82
 
 A Flutter in the Tomato Bank 
 
 salted fish in Lent and kept all fast days, 
 while her brother had devoured flesh in 
 open shame and Angelica had been de- 
 tected munching garlic salame even on Good 
 Friday ? 
 
 She paused before the mutilated but he- 
 roic figure of an American Jack Tar who 
 stood in wooden repose at the door of Signor 
 Tomato. In their palmy days the banks of 
 Mulberry then more numerous than the 
 colony's midwives had a trick of closing 
 their doors when the amount of deposits 
 made it worth while, to the increase of the 
 suicide rate and the encouragement of sti- 
 letto practice upon the bankers who got 
 caught. After a while the Legislature did a 
 little closing, and Signor Tomato, one of the 
 poor but honest caste, had to take his gruel 
 along with the others. He could not take 
 any more deposits, but he kept on with his 
 money-exchange business, and when to this 
 he decided to add an agency for Mediterra- 
 nean steamships he admitted the Jack Tar 
 as a silent partner. At the time they joined 
 83
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 forces the sailor was young and handsome. 
 The tobacconist with whom he began his 
 career had failed after less than a year of ill 
 fortune. But his youth and hardy physique 
 were no match for the climate of Mulberry, 
 which soon proved as ruinous to his manly 
 beauty as it had to Signor Di Bello's real 
 bananas. First one of his weather eyes dis- 
 appeared, then the fine Greek nose took 
 leave, and in quick order both ears vanished ; 
 at length an arm and a half melted away, 
 soon followed by a whole foot. It all came 
 of his lounging on the sidewalk at hours 
 when not even a respectable wooden Indian 
 is found out of doors. Signor Tomato 
 would have insisted on his coming in of 
 nights, but there was not an inch of room 
 to spare within the bank, with his wife and 
 three little Tomatoes all living there, not to 
 speak of the counter, the large dry-goods 
 box that served for a safe, the family chair, 
 and the cook stove. Once he wheeled his 
 silent partner into the countingroom just 
 after the loss of his left ear but the door 
 84
 
 A Flutter in the Tomato Bank 
 
 could not be closed, and out he had to go 
 again into the ravaging night. 
 
 It was not the long-suffering Jack Tar 
 that arrested Carolina's steps, but this pla- 
 card pendent from his neck : 
 
 Per Geneva Juno i, 
 
 Piroscafo Spartan King, 
 
 Qui si Vendono Biglietti di 
 
 Passaggio a Prezzi d'Occasione. 
 
 (For Genoa June i, the Spartan King. 
 Passage Tickets for sale here at Bargain 
 Prices.) 
 
 " Good-morning, Signorina Di Bello ! 
 You do me great honour to read my poor 
 placard." It was the high-keyed voice of 
 Signor Tomato, a little Neapolitan of eagle 
 beak and long brown whiskers. As he 
 stepped lightly from the bank, Bridget, his 
 stout Irish wife, was behind him. She, too, 
 gave Carolina a loud greeting, but in a 
 85 '
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 brogue that was touched with Neapolitan 
 dialect, and took up her stand in the narrow 
 doorway. At the same time three black, 
 curly heads and bright faces peeped from 
 behind her gingham skirts. These intent 
 observers were Pat, Mike, and Biddy, small 
 but weighty factors of the Tomato establish- 
 ment. At the sound of her husband's voice 
 the mother and her brood had come from a 
 mysterious corner at the back of the bank, 
 which a lateen sail concealed from the eye. 
 Carolina gave cold return to Signor Toma- 
 to's salute, but his face did not fall. " Per- 
 haps the signorina is planning a voyage ? " 
 he said, smiling broadly. 
 
 " Yes, I go to Genoa. What company 
 is this?" 
 
 "What company!" he exclaimed, his 
 face an image of deepest amazement. " But 
 pardon me, signorina ; there is only one 
 company in the Mediterranean service, the 
 Great Imperial International General Navi- 
 gation Company, which I have the honour 
 
 to represent." 
 
 86
 
 A Flutter in the Tomato Bank 
 
 " Father Nicodemo went last week on 
 some other line the Duke? That's it 
 the Duke Line." 
 
 "O signorina!" All his faculties of ex- 
 pression united in a show of disgust. " You 
 remember the proverb, ' Do what the priest 
 says and not what the priest does.' My word 
 of honour, those Duke boats, they are for 
 the beasts. But the Great Imperial Inter- 
 national General Navigation Company's 
 ships are extraordinary, stupendous ! Every 
 one is a floating paradise. Shall I speak 
 frankly and tell you what they are ? Well, 
 they are boats for ladies and gentlemen. 
 There now, you have it." 
 
 "Arrah, si\ for signorinies like yersilf 
 and signories, sure." In business matters 
 Bridget always aided her husband with a 
 corroborant note. 
 
 " Do you know what happened to a 
 friend of mine who went on that other 
 line?" the banker continued. " He caught 
 the grip. Why ? Now, signorina, your 
 attention, and I will tell you. The Duke 
 87
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Line is not Italian, eh ? Well, what kind 
 of food do you suppose he got from those 
 Englishmen ? Bifsoup, bifsoup, bifsoup ; 
 rosbif, rosbif, rosbif. And not a grain of 
 cheese for the soup ! For eighteen days he 
 saw macaroni only once, and then it was 
 cooked without oil and had not even the 
 tail of an anchovy or a piece of kidney to 
 flavour it. For eighteen long days he had 
 not so much as a smell of garlic or the sight 
 of a pepper pod. Do you wonder that he 
 caught the grip ? " 
 
 Carolina was impressed, and Bridget 
 clinched the argument with " Arrah, divvil 
 a wonder ! " 
 
 " Besides," Signer Tomato went on, " that 
 line is what we navigators call uncertain, lame 
 ships. The signorina will recall the proverb, 
 ' If you go with the lame you learn to limp.' " 
 
 " I wish to sail to-morrow. Give me a 
 second-class ticket." 
 
 " To-morrow ! Boiling blood of San 
 Gennaro ! But I will do it, signorina ; I 
 will get the ticket."
 
 A Flutter in the Tomato Bank 
 
 Instantly Banca Tomato became a scene 
 of bustle and excitement. The padrone 
 sprang for the door, pushing aside Bridget 
 and scattering her brood. He darted behind 
 the curtain and reappeared in a second with 
 his coat and hat. 
 
 " In ten minutes you shall know," he 
 said, making off in the direction of Broad- 
 way, where there was a real agency of the 
 line. 
 
 "Will ye sit down?" said Bridget, plac- 
 ing the family chair near Carolina, at the 
 foot of the Jack Tar. " Wisha ! Black 
 toimes it is for bankers, and no babies 
 comin' to kape the wolf from the dure. It's 
 mesilf that remimbers this day four years 
 come Patrick's mornin' when me Biddy first 
 saw the light. Arrah, manny's the family 
 wanted me thin for a wet nurse, and a fine 
 pinny had they to pay, thim that got Brid- 
 get Tomah-toe. Thin it was meat in the 
 soup ivry day. And now phat is it ? Cab- 
 bage in a sup iv water, and secondhand cab- 
 bage, too, manny's the toime. But I'm 
 7 89
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 after raisin' the little darlints as good as anny 
 in Mulberry, and much better, should anny 
 wan ax ye." 
 
 " Who ask-a me ? I'm know northeen 
 'bout dat," said Carolina, whose English 
 scholarship had few equals in the colony. 
 
 " Iv coorse ye don't. Sure the signori- 
 nies are not expected to, and they be ould 
 enough to vote ivry hour on 'lection day. 
 It's lucky y'are to be goin' back to the ould 
 country. How long is it y're out ? " 
 
 " Ees twelf year dat I'm in deesa coun- 
 tree." 
 
 "Twelve years ! Howly Mother ! And 
 ye're not married yet ! Troth I was Signo- 
 ry Tomah-toe the first year I landed." 
 
 " What I'm care ? " retorted Carolina. 
 " You mague too moocha noise from de 
 mout. Ees better you goin' keep-a still." 
 
 Luckily for the cash interests of the 
 bank, Signor Tomato appeared at this point, 
 for Bridget was not a woman to adopt any 
 one's suggestion that she hold her tongue. 
 Carolina got her steamship ticket, and the 
 90
 
 A Flutter in the Tomato Bank 
 
 banker pocketed the first commission he 
 had received in a week. 
 
 There was meat in the Tomato soup that 
 night, and on the way from the butcher's 
 Bridget, with Pat, Mike, and Biddy at her 
 apron hem, stopped in the Gaffe of the 
 Beautiful Sicilian and bought each of them 
 a green cake out of the chromatic display in 
 the window. While the youngsters were 
 all eyes and hands for the pastry, Bridget 
 was all sight and mind for a certain living 
 picture that she beheld in the half gloom of 
 the cafftis innermost depth. Seated at a 
 table were Bertino and Juno the Superb. 
 She was tipping pensively a glass of red 
 wine, and he, with paper and ink before 
 him, writhed in the throes of pen-wielding. 
 
 " Ho, ho, me beauty ! " said Bridget to 
 herself on the way home. " I'm thinkin' 
 the ould wan ud have a worrud to say about 
 that. So the nephew is afther her along 
 wid the uncle, and she afther both fish wid 
 the wan hook. Well, I hope the gossoon 
 gets her, and it'll do him anny good. Di
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Belly ought to be cut out, the ould divvil, 
 wid his winkin' and blinkin' and collyfoxin' 
 afther young gerruls. But it's noane iv my 
 potaties, and I'll not disgrace mesilf talkin' 
 iv it. If who's-this Sara the Pepper Pod 
 iver got hold iv it though, wouldn't there 
 be a whillihu in Mulberry ! Thim ghinny 
 wimmin do be good for nothin' but makin' 
 trouble wid their tongues. And phat am I 
 sayin', annyvvay ? Talkin' iv the ghinnies ! 
 Faith I'm half ghinny mesilf." When she 
 reached the bank she said to Signor To- 
 mato, " There's trouble brewin' in the Di 
 Belly family." 
 
 " Troub in de fam ! Ees what for ? " 
 He took an ancient black pipe from his 
 mouth and stood up, all attention. She 
 told him what she had seen in the gloom of 
 the caffl. " Ha, ha ! " he cried, placing a 
 forefinger wisely beside his nose, as he 
 always did when quoting his Neapolitan 
 saws, " the mouse dances a tarantella when 
 the cat takes a siesta" 
 
 " True for ye, Dominick ; and a jewel 
 92
 
 A Flutter in the Tomato Bank 
 
 iv a dance 'twill be agin the ould maid's 
 comin' from Italy. Bad 'cess to her anny- 
 how, and may the divvil fly away wid her 
 back hair ! Tellin' me to hould me tongue ! " 
 
 When the boiling pot had filled the bank 
 with its savour, she went to the door and 
 looked with pride on her raven-curled trio 
 in the roadway playing " duck on a tomato 
 can." 
 
 "Here, Pat, Mike, Biddy!" she called. 
 " Come in and ate your soup." 
 
 They romped in, playing tag on the 
 way. 
 
 93
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 JUNO PERFORMS A MIRACLE 
 
 OF great import was the picture Bridget 
 saw in the Gaffe of the Beautiful Sicilian. 
 It was Bertino's afternoon off from the 
 shop, and he had planned the meeting with 
 Juno the preceding day while his uncle 
 fought again the battles of Garibaldi before 
 an audience of admiring comrades at the 
 Three Gardens. The little tite-a-te'te meant 
 that a crisis had suddenly developed in the 
 green fever of the grocery clerk. His tem- 
 perature had reached a degree where he 
 swore vendetta. Yes, to-day she must 
 choose between life with him and death 
 with his rival. It all came of the Snail 
 Boiler's false report that Signor Di Bello 
 had betrothed himself to the Superb. But 
 94
 
 Juno Performs a Miracle 
 
 Juno eased matters by coming to the tryst 
 with consent on her lips. She would be his 
 wife. It was not Bertino's hot breathings 
 of revenge, however, that had melted the 
 handsome iceberg. Her change of poise 
 was due to a pair of hard knocks that life 
 had playfully dealt her the night before. 
 The first came from the impresario, who 
 told her, with tearful voice, that the affairs 
 of the theatre had gone so badly of late that 
 he was obliged how much against his will 
 Iddio knew to dispense with her services. 
 The second blow came after the perform- 
 ance, when she was eating polenta and birds 
 with Signor Di Bello. She had broached 
 the subject of a wedding ring, only to have 
 him dash her hopes with a roar of laughter 
 that shook the cafft. The rich husband 
 failing and her stage career closed, she de- 
 cided to tide over present difficulties by ac- 
 cepting Bertino's offer of a situation as wife. 
 Though he had promised her a home in 
 Casa Di Bello, she was too shrewd not to 
 perceive that he would find it a promise 
 95
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 hard to make good. But there was another 
 prize whereon she had set her purpose. 
 
 She was madly addicted to the photo- 
 graph habit. The only genuine emotion of 
 which her nature seemed capable was the 
 one of delight she evinced when beholding 
 a picture of herself in some new pose. In 
 Naples a good part of her earnings as bottle- 
 washer in a wine house had gone for por- 
 traits ; and the passion still clinging to her, 
 she had begun to mortgage her salary at the 
 theatre to a Mulberry photographer. In 
 two days she had posed three times, and 
 brought each set of the tintypes to the gro- 
 cery to show them to Bertino. At sight of 
 them he rolled his eyes, clasped his hands, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 " Ah, how beautiful ! How sympa- 
 thetic ! " 
 
 " It would make a fine bust, nek f " she 
 would add, but to this Bertino always re- 
 turned a decisive no. Once she showed him 
 an old solar print that was taken in Naples. 
 It portrayed her in bare shoulders, with a 
 96
 
 Juno Performs a Miracle 
 
 lace mantle over her head and eyes looking 
 soulfully at the moon. This was her favour- 
 ite. " In America," she declared, " they 
 could not make a ritratto like that." But 
 with all her pictures there remained a gnaw- 
 ing in the stomach of her vanity a hunger 
 that would not be allayed since the moment 
 that he told her about the bust. She 
 wanted to see herself in marble. 
 
 It was understood between them that at 
 the meeting this afternoon they would settle 
 the marriage question once and for all ; Ber- 
 tino told himself it would be settled for life 
 or death. On his way to the caffk he en- 
 countered Carolina, and she stunned him 
 with the news of her coming departure for 
 Italy. 
 
 "To-night I go aboard," she said. 
 " Thus I shall not miss the ship and have 
 to wait five weeks for another, as Father 
 Nicodemo did." 
 
 With thrift-prodding anxiety Bertino 
 walked on, thinking out a plan for turning 
 her voyage to the advantage of himself and 
 97
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Armando. The letter he meant to write, 
 and its inclosure of a portrait of the Presi- 
 dent's wife, had assumed in his mind a 
 boundless importance. It would be a 
 packet far too valuable for intrustment to 
 the ordinary mail, and registering letters to 
 Europe he had found, on inquiry of Banker 
 Tomato, to be a costly business ; nor was it 
 any too safe, according to the same author- 
 ity. Aunt Carolina was going to Cardinali ; 
 why not send it by her ? With her own 
 hands she could deliver the precious missive 
 to Armando. Nothing could be safer or 
 cheaper. But there was not a moment to 
 lose if she went aboard to-night. 
 
 Thus it had come about that when Juno 
 entered the caffk she found Bertino writhing 
 in the travail of chirography. Before him 
 on the table lay a photograph of the First 
 Lady of the Land. She checked an impulse 
 to catch it up and tear it to shreds. 
 
 Taking a chair by the table she watched 
 him while he wrote. When he had finished 
 the letter he read it over slowly, then took 
 98
 
 Juno Performs a Miracle 
 
 up the picture of the President's wife to fold 
 the written sheet around it and place it in 
 the envelope. 
 
 " Bah ! " she said. " You talk of love. 
 What love ! Why don't you send this pic- 
 ture for the bust instead of that one ? Am 
 I not more beautiful ? " She drew from her 
 skirt pocket her favourite portrait the one 
 that showed her gazing wistfully at the moon. 
 
 "Anything but that," he answered. 
 "The next one shall be yours. I swear it, 
 if you will swear to be my wife. Ah, mia 
 preziosa, in this letter there is a fortune for 
 me for us both. Don't you see the fine 
 idea it is to have a bust made of such a grand 
 signora ? It will make a furore tremendo in 
 America." 
 
 He had put the letter and the picture in 
 the envelope, and in another instant would 
 have sealed it, but Juno sprang to her feet 
 and pointed to the door, crying : 
 
 " Quick ! Go stop him ! That man with 
 the brown hat my cousin ! He has just 
 passed. I must see him. Quick, Bertino ! " 
 99
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 He started for the door, but hardly 
 had he reached it before she snatched the 
 envelope from the table, took out the 
 photograph of the President's wife and 
 put in the one of herself. Bertino ran 
 back and forth in search of the myth with 
 the brown hat, and at length returned, 
 grumbling that no such person was in the 
 street. 
 
 " Ah, what a pity ! " she said. " I have 
 not seen my cousin since the Feast of the 
 Madonna del Carmelo." 
 
 Bertino licked the gum and sealed the 
 envelope. 
 
 "And now, carina" he said, regarding 
 her tenderly, " the answer that you promised 
 to-day." 
 
 " It is ready," she said, her eye on the 
 letter. " I will be your wife." 
 
 "Joy ! " he cried, and gave her a resonant 
 kiss that startled two chess-players from their 
 absorption and evoked a sneer from the caffb 
 waitress. 
 
 100
 
 Juno Performs a Miracle 
 
 That night Bertino went with Aunt 
 Carolina to the ship. Before saying buon 
 viaggio he handed her the letter for the 
 sculptor. 
 
 "May you guard it well, my aunt ! " he 
 said solemnly. " It is of great value." 
 
 101
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE PERPETUA MEETS A BEAR 
 
 THE lookout had sighted Genoa, but to 
 many eager eyes that peered from the rail 
 there lay naught in the northern distance 
 save the imperial sapphire sparkling to the 
 clear and eternal blue. After a while, the 
 magic wand of proximity touching east and 
 west, the great Mediterranean gem revealed 
 its setting ; the Riviera di Levante lazily 
 unfolded her beauty to the eager men and 
 women in the bow. 
 
 There was one passenger whose soul 
 missed the enchantment. A matter of 
 greater import filled her mind and dimmed 
 her vision her mission to secure a wife for 
 Casa Di Bello. She did show an interest in 
 the fairy picture that was coming out all 
 102
 
 The Perpetua Meets a Bear 
 
 around, but not until the ship had steamed 
 so far shoreward that the hamlets of the 
 slopes showed their shining faces through 
 the mountain greenery. Then she stood in- 
 tently regarding the land, her gaze set far 
 above the white turrets and flaring walls of 
 the Sea City that took form out of the yel- 
 low summer haze. 
 
 " O Geneva Superba ! 
 Qual Citta te paragon?" 
 
 It was Cardinal! that Carolina strained 
 her eyes to discern, and at last she beheld it 
 a weather-beaten little town perched high 
 on a crag of rock. Then she breathed con- 
 tent and awaited patiently the time for land- 
 ing. Within an hour after her well-shod feet 
 had pressed the soil she was snugly installed, 
 trunk and handtraps, in a veteran victoria 
 drawn by a raw recruit of a horse, whose 
 youthful antics kept the driver busy. With 
 her luggage safely at her side and the land- 
 ing accomplished without mishap, she settled 
 back on the cushion and gave herself up to 
 ease and self-adoration. How much wiser
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 and abler she was than those excitable, nerv- 
 ous women whom she had left on the quay, 
 still fuming over their baggage and the cus- 
 toms examination ! Complacently she judged 
 herself a very superior person, and never be- 
 fore had she felt on better terms with her- 
 self. The raw recruit trotted decorously 
 enough past the monument of the Man that 
 made an Egg stand on End, and clattered 
 under the marble arch, whereon St. George, 
 champion of Genoa, was trampling a dragon. 
 Presently the city lay at her back, and she 
 began to breathe the good air of home in the 
 white dust of the highway, the pungent scent 
 of the sage, the sweetness of the honeysuckle 
 and oleander. 
 
 They began the ascent of the winding 
 causeway up which Armando had toiled so 
 sadly with his despised Juno and the Pea- 
 cock. Long stretches of wall bordered the 
 route, which was rough in places and steep, 
 and not at all to the taste of the youngster 
 in the traces. He grew cross and nervous, 
 and shied at such innocent things as a tuft 
 104
 
 The Perpetua Meets a Bear 
 
 of cowslips on the roadside or an umbel of 
 clematis on the wall. t 
 
 "What kind of horse have you there?" 
 asked Carolina, picking up a valise that had 
 been jolted from the seat several times. 
 
 " What kind of a horse ? " repeated the 
 cocchiere, as though unable to credit his ears. 
 " Ah, signora, there is none better in all 
 Genoa ; only he is a little green and has had 
 the staggers once. Verily a fine beast." 
 
 At the bight of a turning a Franciscan 
 monk came in view suddenly from behind a 
 thicket of myrtle. He wore the brown robe, 
 scanty cape and hood on the shoulders, the 
 girdle of knotted cord, the wooden sandals 
 of his order. The recruit struck up a dance, 
 and would have caracoled to the upsetting of 
 the victoria, had not the monk run forward 
 and caught his head. 
 
 " I regret that I frightened your horse, 
 signora," said the friar ; " but I think he will 
 go safely now." 
 
 To the mind of Aunt Carolina, both the 
 danger and its allayance had sprung from an 
 s 105
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 eminently proper source. To be put in peril 
 by a holy man was a distinction second only 
 to being rescued by one. In thanking her 
 deliverer she made known with pride that 
 she too had been a limb of the Church. 
 
 " For eight years, father, was I perpetua 
 of the rectory in Mulberry." 
 
 The monk crossed himself and trudged on. 
 
 They were not far now from the last 
 squirm of the highway that serpentined to 
 Cardinali. The angle by the myrtle thicket 
 doubled, they entered upon a road that for 
 half a mile was an almost level shelf on the 
 mountain side. On one hand yawned a 
 precipice that grew deeper as the road wore 
 upward, and all that stood between an un- 
 governable horse and his driver's eternity 
 was a low stone wall built along the margin. 
 Carolina would have descended from the 
 vehicle and walked the rest of the way but 
 for the persuasive driver, who promised her 
 upon his honour that all would go well now 
 they had reached a stretch of road that was 
 not steep. He could assure the signora that 
 1 06
 
 The Perpetua Meets a Bear 
 
 his horse was kind and gentle at heart, but 
 coming of a lordly stock he loved not the 
 menial task of hauling heavy loads uphill. 
 A person of education like the signora would 
 understand that. Peril ? Not a spark of it 
 now that the going was smooth and easy. 
 See! he was behaving better already. 
 
 The horse was steadier, and all might 
 have ended well, but for certain dark objects 
 that had appeared at this moment from be- 
 hind the last bend and were dimly visible 
 far up the pass. As they drew near, the ears 
 of the recruit stiffened higher and higher, and 
 a few short, wild snorts gave further signal of 
 danger. In the oncoming group was a tall 
 and sinewy mountaineer, bronze of face and 
 shock-headed, who led a monkey with one 
 hand and with the other held the chain of a 
 large cinnamon bear. By his side, a little 
 behind, tramped his wife in picturesque rags 
 and tinsel. She carried a brown baby, and 
 half dragged along a toddling boy with a 
 tambourine. When only a dozen rods sepa- 
 rated them from the carriage, the mounte- 
 107
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 bank, obeying business instinct, commanded 
 the bear to rise on his hind paws. With 
 clumsy alacrity the beast did so, while 
 the master doffed his hat, and with the 
 others of the vagabond troop stood lined 
 on the roadside ready to receive Carolina's 
 bounty. 
 
 The huge brown shape risen so suddenly 
 in his path was more than the overwrought 
 nerves of the lordling could stand, and away 
 he shot, bit and reins a cipher, bent upon 
 turning out and flying past the mysterious 
 terror. The hubs of the victoria struck 
 against the low stone parapet, kept bumping 
 hard and rapidly from one jagged projection 
 to another, and do his best the driver could 
 not steer the maddened animal clear of the 
 rude masonry. Carolina's first thought was 
 to leap into the road rather than be popped 
 over the wall to sure destruction. She did 
 not wait for a second thought, but sprang, 
 and landed by a miracle clear of the wheels, 
 at the feet of the astonished bear. Another 
 instant and the inquiring beast would have 
 1 08
 
 The bear-tamer's wife.
 
 The Perpetua Meets a Bear 
 
 scratched her face or combed her hair, but 
 his master jerked him back with a mighty 
 tug at the chain, while the wife, setting down 
 her baby, leaped to Carolina's aid. They 
 carried her to the herbage that fringed the 
 highway. Then the mountebank set off at 
 a run for the victoria, which had come to a 
 standstill at a point where the road assumed 
 an abrupt steepness. Horse, driver, and ve- 
 hicle were faintly discernible through the 
 powdery clouds thrown up by hoof and 
 wheel. 
 
 " Presto / To Cardinali ! " cried the bear- 
 tamer, coming up with the carriage, which 
 the recruit was striving to back over the par- 
 apet. " A doctor ! The signora has broken 
 her leg ! " 
 
 " To Cardinali ! " sneered the cocchiere. 
 " Bah ! The beast woo-ah, woo ! he will 
 mount no higher woo-ah, woo ! and by 
 San Giorgio, I blame him not. There, now, 
 ugly one, quiet, quiet. No ; if I go for a 
 doctor it must be downhill. And you and 
 your bear ! " he added with a scowl at the 
 109
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 showman. "A fine day's work you have 
 done. It is men and bears like you two 
 that I would send to prison. Look at those 
 hubs. Who will pay the damage ? Not 
 such as you, I warrant. Body of a whale ! 
 Why did I ever come here ? " 
 
 " You are a wild ass ! " returned the 
 mountebank. "Who but an ass would try 
 to drive such a horse ? My jackanapes has 
 more sense." 
 
 " A I diavolo, rascal ! " 
 
 " All 'infer no , donkey ! " 
 
 " Bah ! " 
 
 " Bah ! " 
 
 Without difficulty the driver turned his 
 horse in the opposite direction, and at a 
 contented jog he started downhill toward 
 the spot where Carolina lay. The showman's 
 wife was supporting her head and begging 
 forgiveness for her husband and the bear. 
 Presently Sebastiano the Carrier reached the 
 scene with his empty cart. Did he know 
 the lady ? Some there were who forgot 
 faces, but not he. Signorina Di Bello. It 
 no
 
 ' A broken leg ! Dio Santo !
 
 The Perpetua Meets a Bear 
 
 was many years since she went away, but he 
 knew her. Had the sun overcome her ? A 
 broken leg ! Dio Santo ! 
 
 After much vehement talk and excited 
 gesture the baggage was taken from the 
 victoria and the injured woman placed, none 
 too tenderly, in the donkey cart, that being 
 deemed the only safe course. It was the 
 same springless wain that had carried Ar- 
 mando's Juno and the Peacock on their 
 fruitless pilgrimage to Genoa. For Caro- 
 lina it was simply a car of torture. By 
 the time it rolled under the arched gate 
 of Cardinal! she was no longer sensible of 
 pain. 
 
 It was the most stupendous event the 
 village had ever known this return of Ca- 
 rolina Di Bello after an absence of twelve 
 years, and bumping along over the cobbles 
 in old Sebastiano's cart. Every house that 
 the terrible ambulance passed was straightway 
 emptied of its inmates, who fell in behind 
 the cart, clamouring for a view of its uncon- 
 scious occupant. She lay as though lifeless, 
 in
 
 k 
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 her head propped by a travelling bag, her 
 face exposed to the glare of the sun. No 
 one thought of covering her face, so eager 
 were they all to gaze at it and compare her 
 looks with what they were twelve years be- 
 fore when she departed for America. The 
 women discussed her gown and foot gear, 
 and pronounced them both very signora. 
 Sebastiano drew up at a flight of broken 
 stone steps that zigzagged to a porch shaded 
 by a gnarled fig tree, whereunder a cow-faced 
 woman stood patiently stirring a copper 
 vessel of steaming corn-meal mush. The 
 donkey gave a bray of approval at the 
 calling of a halt, and the woman, in re- 
 sponse to a general cry, clattered down to 
 the cart. 
 
 " Cousin Carolina ! Misericordia / What 
 has happened ? Where did she come from ?" 
 
 The new actor on the scene was Serafina 
 Digrandi, aunt of the maid for whose wiving 
 Carolina had made the disastrous journey ; 
 and, following the mountain usage, she would 
 have flung herself weeping upon the move- 
 1 12
 
 The Perpetua Meets a Bear 
 
 less figure of her relative, but the village 
 doctor broke through the crowd in time to 
 hold her back and declare the patient still 
 alive. At this Serafina dried her tears and 
 began a bustling preparation of the best 
 room in the house.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 BIRTH OF THE LAST LADY 
 
 WHEN the fractured shin bone had been 
 set by a surgeon from Genoa, and Carolina 
 had passed a day and a night in sullen rebel- 
 lion at fate, she asked for Marianna. 
 
 " She is at the mill, dear cousin," an- 
 swered Serafina. 
 
 "What mill?" 
 
 "The straw mill, where she is a plaiter." 
 
 " Let her leave it and come to me." 
 
 " But she gains ten soldi a day. How 
 shall we live if we give up our work ? " 
 
 " I will make up the ten soldi. Bid her 
 come." 
 
 So the next dawn did not find Marianna 
 hastening with lunch hamper down the path 
 through the fir thicket toward the mill in 
 114
 
 Birth of the Last Lady 
 
 the gorge. But Armando was at the spot 
 where he met her every morning on her way 
 to work. And while he watched and wor- 
 ried under the alders, whose boles the tor- 
 rent splashed, Marianna stood at the bedside 
 of Aunt Carolina. At daybreak she had 
 entered the room softly, and found the 
 woman from America awake. 
 
 " I have been waiting for you," she said 
 faintly. " In the night I remembered a 
 packet that Bertino gave me for some one 
 in Cardinali a Signer Corrini. It is there, 
 in the bag. Take it out, and deliver it to 
 whom it belongs." 
 
 " Signor Corrini ! Armando ! " cried the 
 girl. " I will carry it to him at once." She 
 started for the door. , 
 
 " Armando is your amante f " 
 
 " Sz, aunt." She blushed, and left the 
 room, closing the door gently. 
 
 " And I the bearer of a message to him ! 
 O Maria ! what penance more ? All fasts 
 kept, aves and paternosters said faithfully, 
 and my reward a broken leg ! " 
 "5
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Marianna lost no time in delivering the 
 precious missive to Armando, whom she 
 found waiting in the gorge at the wonted 
 place. Without stopping to answer his anx- 
 ious inquiries, she placed the fateful packet 
 in his hands. 
 
 " From Bertino," she said. 
 
 " Ah, joy ! " he cried, tearing open the 
 envelope. " What I have waited for so 
 long ! Surely it is the model for my great 
 work, for the bust that shall make me 
 famous in America. Bones of St. George ! " 
 
 He had taken out the portrait of Juno, 
 and stood glaring at it. 
 
 " She has a nose," Marianna remarked. 
 
 " True," said Armando thoughtfully. " I 
 wonder if this is American beauty." 
 
 Then he began reading the letter aloud. 
 At the part that told him it was a portrait 
 of the wife of the President of the United 
 States he leaped for gladness, and Marianna 
 started away to tell all the village. Ar- 
 mando caught her arm. 
 
 "Not a word!" he said; "not a word 
 116
 
 Birth of the Last Lady 
 
 until the work is done nay, until it is de- 
 livered to her Majesty La Presidentessa." 
 
 And a great secret it remained for many 
 months, during which Armando toiled by 
 day and night, releasing from the block of 
 marble the supposed First Lady of the 
 Land. Marianna saw little of him. When 
 she ventured to look in at the shop where 
 he worked, her visit never seemed welcome. 
 He returned short answers to her questions, 
 and showed petulance because of the inter- 
 ruption ; and the dreadful truth was borne 
 in upon her that he had given himself heart 
 and soul to the woman who took shape from 
 the marble. One day, when the bust was 
 almost finished, she said timidly : 
 
 "Armando, don't you love me any 
 more ? " 
 
 " What a question ! Of course I do," 
 and he gave her a hasty kiss. Then he went 
 on chipping at Juno's snub nose. 
 
 Not at all reassured, Marianna went back 
 to Aunt Carolina, whose convalescence had 
 met with a serious setback ; but she was out 
 117
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 of bed now, and talking about returning to 
 Mulberry by the next ship. 
 
 " Sit by my side, carina" she said. " I 
 have something to say to you. Soon I shall 
 go to America. Do you know what a fine 
 country that is ? Well, you shall see. Aunt 
 Serafina permits it, and I will bear the ex- 
 pense and it is decided that you may go 
 with me. Ah, how happy you must be to 
 hear this ! How many girls would like to 
 go, and how few have the chance ! " 
 
 " But Armando ! " 
 
 " The amante ! " said Carolina scornfully. 
 " Bah ! he is nothing." 
 
 "True enough," sneered Aunt Serafina. 
 " All Cardinal! knows what he is. A good- 
 for-naught who will starve when the money 
 that old Daniello the Image Maker left him 
 is eaten up." 
 
 " He is no good-for-naught," said the 
 girl. "He is a sculptor." 
 
 She could not help defending him then, 
 but none the less that night she went to bed 
 with serious thoughts in her head of accept- 
 118
 
 Birth of the Last Lady 
 
 ing Aunt Carolina's offer. It was the month 
 of the finished bust, and with the sense that 
 Armando no longer cared for her was min- 
 gled a feeling of resentment, which she 
 vaguely fancied could be expressed most 
 potently by forsaking him leaving him 
 alone with the stony woman who had 
 robbed her of his heart. Of course, this 
 would not have weighed against the love 
 that was only wounded, had not the tone 
 of her two aunts taken a ring of command, 
 instead of solicitation, as the day drew 
 nearer for Carolina's departure. Thus it 
 came to pass that on the very morning that 
 the bust was carried down the winding road 
 to Genoa and put aboard a ship for New 
 York, Marianna said to Armando : 
 
 " In three weeks I go to America." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes ; with Aunt Carolina." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " She wants me, and you do not love 
 me." 
 
 " Dio ! How can you say that ? " 
 119
 
 " You love her better." 
 
 " Her ? Santa Maria ! who ? " 
 
 " I know." 
 
 "Speak!" 
 
 " You love the marble woman." 
 
 He caught her in a frenzied embrace, 
 and imprinted kisses upon her hair, her 
 glowing cheeks, her lips, and her long, 
 brown eyelashes. 
 
 "Mia vita!" he gasped. " Do you 
 know what you will do if you talk so ? 
 You will drive me mad ! I swear that I 
 love you better than life. I would die with 
 you, my angel of God. With every breath 
 J love you, love you, love you ! " 
 
 " O Madonna, eke peccato / It is too 
 late ! She has the biglietto for the ship. 
 They say I must go now." 
 
 " Then, by the sword of the saint, I will 
 go too ! " 
 
 And go he did on the ship that carried 
 
 Carolina and Marianna, though it was not 
 
 love alone that drew him after her. In 
 
 America his fame was to be erected, and for 
 
 1 20
 
 Birth of the Last Lady 
 
 some time he had been thinking that it 
 would be well for him to be on the spot, 
 and give Bertino a hand with the architec- 
 ture. 
 
 The white towers of Genoa were still 
 visible when Carolina came face to face in 
 the companion way with the amante, from 
 whom she was felicitating herself she had 
 separated Marianna forever. 
 
 " What is he doing on this ship ? " she 
 demanded of the girl. 
 
 " Going to America." 
 
 " Bah ! I know that. Is he following 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes, signora." 
 
 Of course she tried to keep them apart, 
 and of course failed drearily every day of the 
 voyage. While she hunted the vessel over 
 for them, they would be enjoying a quiet 
 exchange of confidences in one of the secret 
 nooks known only to lovers on shipboard. 
 One day Armando confessed to a hopeless 
 state of pocket. It had taken well-nigh 
 every soldo he could raise to pay his passage. 
 
 9 121
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 What he should do to support himself in 
 America was, he owned, a knotty problem, 
 but one that could remain unsolved only 
 until his bust should be seen, admired, and 
 purchased by the First Lady of the Land. 
 It had been shipped three weeks before ; al- 
 ready it was in America, and, oh, glorious 
 thought ! perhaps at that very moment 
 standing upon a costly pedestal in the 
 White House. Even if her Majesty the 
 Presidentessa had not found it convenient 
 as yet to receive it, she would do so in a 
 fortnight at the longest. Great people like 
 that always took their time. Meanwhile 
 had he not Bertino, his bosom friend and 
 commercial representative in the American 
 market, to stand by him ? With this gold- 
 en view Marianna was in full accord, and 
 his twenty years and her seventeen could 
 see nothing to worry about in the New 
 World. 
 
 122
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A RACE TO THE SWIFT 
 
 THE morning that Carolina sailed for 
 Genoa, Signor Di Bello began to recon- 
 sider the roar of derision with which he had 
 treated Juno's matrimonial aims, and before 
 the day was out he had made up his mind 
 to possess her as his wife. To be sure, he 
 had promised Carolina not to marry for 
 three months, and this pledge, given on his 
 saint's day, was of course inviolable ; but he 
 reasoned that there would be no breach of 
 faith in offering Juno his hand, and having 
 the nuptials set three months to a day from 
 the Feast of St. George. He sat in the 
 shop thinking over the great matter, when 
 the sunlit floor was darkened by the shadow 
 of Sara the Frier of Pepper Pods. 
 123
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 "Buon giorno, Signer Di Bello," she said, 
 in a tone that gave promise sure of more to 
 follow. 
 
 "O Signora Sara, buon giorno" 
 
 " Two cents' worth of salt, if you please. 
 Ahimk ! Truly these are days of much ex- 
 pense. Never did I fry peppers that re- 
 quired so much salt." 
 
 "Ah, si; much expense," said Signor Di 
 Bello, yawning and handing her out a two- 
 cent bag. 
 
 From a deep pocket of her skirt she 
 drew a begrimed canvas money pouch, and 
 untied a long string with which it was 
 closed at the top and wound about many 
 times. Dipping in, she brought forth a 
 handful of coppers, and selected two. 
 These she laid on the counter with a sigh, 
 first feeling of the bag to make sure that it 
 was packed hard with salt. She looked 
 about the shop, and stood a moment mov- 
 ing a red-stockinged foot in and out at the 
 open heel of her wooden-soled slipper. 
 
 " Your nephew not here ? " she remarked, 
 124
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 and then with a chuckle, "With the singer, 
 nek ? " 
 
 " What singer ?" asked Di Bello. 
 
 " Juno." 
 
 " What has he to do with La Superba?" 
 
 " More than you think," returned the 
 yellow-visaged beldame, nodding her head 
 mysteriously, while her long gold earrings 
 jingled. " Listen, and it is I that will tell 
 you something. Go to the Caffe of the 
 Beautiful Sicilian if you would know with 
 whom he spends his time." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "There it is that he meets the canta- 
 trice." 
 
 " Juno ? " 
 
 " Si, signore." 
 
 " Satan the Pig ! Bah ! What are you 
 saying ? " 
 
 " The truth, signore ; the truth, I assure 
 you. I have it on the word of Lavinia the 
 waitress. Only yesterday she saw them 
 kiss." 
 
 The gloating eyes of Sara were fixed 
 125
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 upon him, and Di Bello did something very 
 unusual for him he dissembled his feelings. 
 
 " What of it ? " he said with an air of un- 
 concern. " Why should he not kiss her ? 
 It is no affair of mine." 
 
 Though a good piece of acting, it did 
 not gammon the keen wits of Sara the 
 Frier of Pepper Pods. Taking up her bag 
 of salt, she clattered from the shop, and 
 before long stood the voluble centre of a 
 group of eager women, into whose ears she 
 poured the tidings of rival loves in Casa 
 Di Bello. Meantime the grocer, waiting for 
 Bertino, fanned his wrath. When the 
 young man turned up at the shop this was 
 his greeting : 
 
 "Satan the Pig!" 
 
 " Why ? " asked Bertino. 
 
 " And you have the courage to ask ? 
 Very innocent for one who tries to rob me 
 of the woman I love. O traitor ! " 
 
 Bertino stood speechless with amaze- 
 ment and dismay. His good-natured, easy- 
 going uncle prancing about the place in a fit 
 126
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 of passion was a sight that took his breath 
 away. 
 
 " By the Egg of Columbus!" Di Bello 
 continued, raising his clinched fist and fix- 
 ing his eyes upon the loops of dried sausage 
 suspended from the ceiling " by the Egg, 
 I swear it, if you don't keep away from that 
 woman I'll turn you from my door I'll 
 have your heart's blood ! " 
 
 " What woman ? " Bertino asked ginger- 
 ly, and with a feint of ignorance that was 
 not convincing. 
 
 " Bah ! Don't play the fool. I know 
 all. Remember what I tell you keep away 
 from her." 
 
 Bertino went behind the counter, put on 
 an apron, and held his tongue. By degrees 
 the padrone's ire cooled, until he became so 
 tranquil as to take a chair. 
 
 " Listen, my nephew," he said, sprawling 
 his legs and thrusting his hands in his pock- 
 ets. " I will tell you a secret. This woman 
 is to be my wife." 
 
 " Your what ? " gasped Bertino. 
 127
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " My wife. Three months from yester- 
 day she will be Signora Di Bello. I would 
 marry her this very day but I promised 
 donkey that I was ! I promised not to take 
 a wife for three months ; a pledge that I 
 can't break, for it was given on San Giorgio's 
 Day. Oh, what a donkey ! " 
 
 Bertino did not dare ask any questions, 
 but he resolved that something should be 
 done at once to head off his uncle ; not an- 
 other day, nay, not a single hour, must pass 
 until he and Juno should be man and wife. 
 He found an excuse to leave the shop, and 
 went to Juno's humble abode. 
 
 " Come with me at once, carissima / " 
 he cried. " Come to the Church of San 
 Loretto. It is open to-day for masses, and 
 Father Bernardo is there. We shall be 
 married this very hour." 
 
 " Why such haste ? " she asked. 
 
 " Ah, my angel, can you ask ? I wish 
 to 'make sure of you to know that you are 
 really mine." 
 
 Together they made their way through 
 128
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 Mulberry, walking with step rapid and reso- 
 lute. As they entered Elizabeth Street and 
 approached the portals of San Loretto, Ber- 
 tino recollected with a tremor of fear the 
 threat of his uncle : " If you don't keep 
 away from that woman I'll turn you from 
 my door I'll have your heart's blood!" 
 They were about to ascend the church steps 
 when he caught Juno by the arm and drew 
 back. 
 
 " Come away from here," he said hoarsely. 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 " Come away ! We must go to some 
 other church. Here it is that the pigs of 
 Sicilians get married. It is no place for a 
 Genovese like me or a fine Neapolitan like 
 you. Come, we shall find another priest." 
 
 In secrecy he saw his one chance of sav- 
 ing himself for the present from the conse- 
 quences of openly defying Signer Di Bello. 
 To be married at the altar of San Loretto, 
 to which dozens of sharp eyes and gossiping 
 tongues were always directed in prayer, 
 would be to proclaim the nuptials to all 
 129
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Mulberry before vesper bells should be 
 rung that day. 
 
 He led her through Houston Street and 
 across the Bowery to a rectory in lower 
 Second Avenue, a quarter that lies only a 
 few blocks beyond the frontier of Mulberry, 
 but with a life as remote and distinct from 
 that of the Italian colony as though a hun- 
 dred leagues of sea divided them. A brief 
 mumbling in a little parlour, and they were 
 man and wife. 
 
 Neither bride nor bridegroom looked 
 joyous as they came forth into the street 
 and moved slowly toward Mulberry. Ber- 
 tino's face was particularly long. He was 
 in a black study. Throughout his persistent 
 courtship he had promised Juno that she 
 should have a home in Casa Di Bello if she 
 became his wife. Now he found himself 
 cracking his wits to contrive a good excuse 
 for keeping her out of his uncle's sight. If 
 they met she would be sure to tell him 
 of the marriage, whereupon inferno would 
 kindle. With a wife on his hands, he would 
 130
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 find himself homeless and out of employ- 
 ment, even if Di Bello's vendetta did not 
 remove the need of earning a living. He 
 dared not make a confidante of his wife, for 
 to do so meant disclosure of the ugly truth 
 that he had cheated her of the richest hus- 
 band in Mulberry of a prize which he 
 knew she had been eager to win. His heart 
 sank at thought of the terrible vendetta that 
 she might take. He believed her capable 
 of forsaking him and setting their union at 
 naught. Silent of tongue and sore bestead, 
 he moved along slowly, while passers-by eyed 
 the majestic woman at his side. When 
 they had reached St. Patrick's Graveyard, 
 and her glance fell on Casa Di Bello, she 
 said : 
 
 " Now that we are married, let us go to 
 your uncle and tell him, so that I may move 
 in over there. When that is done we can 
 have the marriage before the mayor, and 
 the wedding feast." 
 
 " Not yet," he said ; " not yet, for the 
 love of Dio ! "
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " Why ? " she demanded. " I am as good 
 as any one in that house." 
 
 " Oh, my precious one, it is not that ; 
 not that. Listen. There is my uncle a 
 good man, but strange, strange. When I 
 told him I should take a wife he called me 
 fool and got very angry. He said I would 
 not do my work so well if I took a wife. 
 But you ah, you, my angel ! I would not 
 give you up for all the uncles and shops in 
 New York yes, in all America." 
 
 " You talk nonsense," said Juno. "Tell 
 me why I should not live in Casa Di Bello." 
 
 " Well, it is for this, carissima, only this : 
 I am afraid to tell him just now that I am 
 married, because he said he would put me 
 out do you understand ? said he would 
 put me out of the shop and Casa Di Bello 
 if I got married. In a few weeks 
 
 " Bah ! " she said, waving a forefinger in 
 Neapolitan fashion, meaning that she was 
 not to be taken in. " I never believed you 
 when you talked of Casa Di Bello. Do you 
 think it was for that I married you ? " 
 132
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 "Wait, wait, my Juno. Pazienza. The 
 day will come when you will be padrona of 
 that house." 
 
 " Enough," she said. " I am tired of this 
 nonsense. What are you going to do ?" 
 
 " Listen," said Bertino, delighted at the 
 success of his garbled version of Di Bello's 
 threat. " This is my idea : You do not like 
 Mulberry too well, nor do I. Moreover, 
 rents are very high here, because these ani- 
 mals find it hard to get in anywhere else, 
 and the landlords rob them. But with us it 
 is different. We, for example, are signori, 
 are we not ? " 
 
 " Ah, yes ; I am a signora." 
 
 " Very well. Now I will tell you the 
 rest : In the upper city there are apartments, 
 small and fine, that we could take. You 
 know Giacomo Goldoni, the cornetist at La 
 Scala ? Well, he lives in a place like that, 
 he and his wife, just like Americans." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 " In One Hundred and Eleventh Street 
 of the East. Do you know where that is ? 
 133
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Well, you can find it. To-day you shall go 
 and choose the place. Here is money, the 
 first that you have received from your hus- 
 band. Do you think I have been fool 
 enough to give the money I brought from 
 Italy to the pothouses ? Not I. When I 
 need money I go to the Bank of Risparmio. 
 See what kind of a husband you have ! 
 Neither you nor any one else knows how 
 much I have in the bank. I will tell you. 
 Before drawing this five yesterday I had 
 fifty -three dollars." 
 
 Juno expressed her contempt in a glance, 
 but she closed her fingers on the greenback. 
 
 " Very well. I go to look for the apart- 
 ment. This evening we meet. Where ? 
 At the Caffe of the Beautiful Sicilian ? " 
 
 " No, no ; not there ! " said Bertino. 
 " You must not come to Mulberry." 
 
 "Why?" she demanded, eying him 
 closely. 
 
 He made the only answer that could 
 have satisfied her : 
 
 " It is no place for such a signora as you." 
 134
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 They appointed another meeting place 
 one that lay beyond the zone of Signor Di 
 Bello's nightly revels, and with a wave of 
 the hand Juno took leave of her husband. 
 He watched her proudly as her stately fig- 
 ure moved toward the Bowery. She carried 
 her head with the dignity of the ladies she 
 had seen driving in the Chiaja of Naples on 
 a sunny afternoon. 
 
 Bertino returned to the shop in Paradise 
 Park. As he picked his way through the 
 swarms of children on the sidewalk he 
 thought of his uncle sitting in the sunlight, 
 all unwary that the prize he coveted had 
 passed to another. And the elation of the 
 conqueror gave a spring to his step, and a 
 swagger, until he turned a corner and be- 
 held the sign of the Wooden Bunch. 
 Then misgiving filled his soul and restored 
 his trudging pace, his peasant gait mis- 
 giving that the vanquished one might exact 
 an accounting. 
 
 "Soul of a lobster!" cried Di Bello, 
 springing from his chair, when the young 
 135
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 man appeared at the door. " Where the 
 crocodile have you been ? Animal ! To 
 keep me waiting like this, and a grand game 
 of bastoni to be played at the Three Gar- 
 dens. By the Dragon, you are going too 
 far!" 
 
 He flung out of the shop, not waiting to 
 hear Bertino's lame excuse. 
 
 That evening, after the shop was closed, 
 Bertino and Juno visited a large instalment 
 house in the Bowery and made their selec- 
 tion of furniture. 
 
 " We shall not need much," he said, 
 mindful of his balance in the bank, " for in 
 a little while we shall live in Casa Di Bello." 
 
 "Casa Di Bello !" sneered Juno. " Do 
 you think I am a fool ? " 
 
 Nevertheless, when two months of liv- 
 ing in the little dark flat had brought her 
 no nearer the inside of the Di Bello house, 
 where her husband continued to live in 
 order to avert suspicion, she became im- 
 patient, disgusted. The few hours a week 
 that he could steal from the shop to visit 
 136
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 her were not the happiest in his life. She 
 grew sullen and entertained him with fault- 
 finding. Of his poverty she never lost an 
 opportunity to twit him, and called him a 
 cheat for marrying her. At last she declared 
 that she would not stay there alone any 
 longer. If a man took a wife and could not 
 live with her and support her like a Chris- 
 tian he had better give her up. And he 
 talked of money ! Why did he not bring 
 her good things from the grocery ? For two 
 months she had lived on bread and salame 
 half the time, with an occasional feast of 
 lupine beans and veal that he brought her 
 from Mulberry. And what veal ! In Na- 
 ples it would not be permitted to sell such 
 young meat. Perhaps it was good enough 
 for the wives of the Mulberry cattle, but it 
 would not do for her to live that way. She 
 had been a fool to put up with it as long as 
 she had a woman like her ! when she could 
 go on the stage and live as a signora should. 
 Yes, she could get a place on the stage, and 
 it would not be an Italian theatre either. 
 
 10 137
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Goldoni the cornetist had left La Scala and 
 was playing in the orchestra of a Broadway 
 theatre, the great Titania. The other day 
 she met him, and she did not let on that she 
 was married. See how well she could keep 
 a secret ! but she was a fool for doing so. 
 Well, Goldoni was a man. He said that he 
 could get her a place in the Titania without 
 any trouble. In fact, the impresario would 
 be glad to engage her. She would be the 
 finest shape in the company. It would be 
 twelve dollars a week sure for a figure such 
 as hers, Signer Goldoni had assured her. 
 Why, then, should she remain at home 
 nights waiting for a good-for-nothing of a 
 husband, who never brought her anything 
 better than bob veal ? 
 
 Bertino pleaded with her to be patient 
 and all would end well. By the Feast of 
 San Giovanni, if not before, it would be 
 safe to reveal the secret of his marriage, 
 when, he could promise her, his good-tem- 
 pered uncle would forgive him, and invite 
 them both to make their home in Casa Di 
 138
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 Bello. As for his aunt, she would not be 
 here to interfere. 
 
 " Your aunt will not be here ? " asked Juno, 
 who recognised in Carolina her bitterest foe. 
 
 " No. She has broken her leg, and will 
 not return to America for a long time. The 
 news came yesterday." 
 
 When Bertino pressed the bell button of 
 the flat a week afterward the electric lock of 
 the street door did not click its customary 
 " come in." For several minutes he kept up 
 a serenade. At length a thunderous voice 
 sounded through the speaking tube : 
 
 "She's out. Get out!" 
 
 It was Juno's first night on the stage of 
 the Titania. She had taken the engage- 
 ment without deeming it worth while to 
 inform her husband. Bertino returned to 
 Mulberry, at first greatly alarmed for her 
 safety, but in turn filled with most dreadful 
 imaginings as to the cause of her absence. 
 The following night he got a similar response 
 to his sonata on the bell, but, instead of go- 
 139
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 ing away in a half-distracted state of mind, 
 he lingered in the doorway, or paced to and 
 fro before the house. To-night he was not 
 merely a husband worried because his wife 
 was missing. His alert eye and grimly pa- 
 tient air bespoke a more serious matter. 
 Whether walking, standing, or sitting on the 
 steps he was careful not to take one of his 
 hands the right out of his coat pocket. 
 It was after midnight when he caught sight 
 of her. The white glare of an electric light 
 brought her suddenly into view as she turned 
 the corner. He tightened his grip on the 
 thing in his pocket, but as she drew near and 
 it was certain that she had no companion 
 save a small valise, he came forth from the 
 shadow in which he had crouched when the 
 purpose of dealing her a deadly thrust was 
 full upon him. She started back, but quick- 
 ly regained her frigid calm. 
 
 " You've had a fine wait," she said. 
 
 "Where have you been ?" he demanded, 
 for the first time speaking to her in a tone 
 that smacked of authority. 
 140
 
 A Race to the Swift 
 
 " Working and earning money," she an- 
 swered " money that you ought to give 
 me." 
 
 "Working? Where?" 
 
 " In the theatre the great Titania. 
 Bah ! You never even heard of it. Do you 
 know where Broadway is ? " 
 
 He did not resent her scornful words. 
 The motive for killing her having passed, he 
 was again her blind worshipper. Producing 
 her latchkey she opened the door. 
 
 " Come in," she said. " I have some- 
 thing to say to you." And when they had 
 entered the flat : " You must come to the 
 theatre and walk home with me every night 
 after the representation. At the stage door 
 you must wait. There are beasts who will 
 not let a woman be when she is alone at 
 night. I have been annoyed enough." 
 
 "Who has annoyed you?" said Bertino, 
 springing up and putting his hand in the 
 stiletto pocket, now as eager to slay the 
 offender as he had been to knife her a few 
 minutes before. 
 
 141
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " No matter. To-morrow night and every 
 night you be there at the stage door." 
 
 Signer Di Bello sought in vain to get a 
 trace of Juno. The impresario of La Scala 
 could not give him any clew. He visited all 
 the concert halls and singing caffts of Mul- 
 berry, as well as the Italian theatres of Little 
 Italy in the Upper East End. Not a soul 
 knew anything about her. One day he said 
 to Bertino : 
 
 "That woman Juno has flown like the 
 bluebird that used to light on the Garibaldi 
 statue. Do you know where she is ? " 
 
 " How should I know ? You threaten 
 to kill me if I do not keep away from her, 
 and then ask me where she is ! " 
 
 " It is a grand mystery," mused Di Bello, 
 throwing out his legs and lying back in his 
 chair. "Just when I am ready to marry her 
 she takes wing." 
 
 " Ah, sz\" said Bertino meditatively " a 
 grand mystery." 
 
 142
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE PEACE PRESERVED 
 
 AFTER Juno's sudden disappearance the 
 theatre and the caffks of Mulberry lost their 
 charm for Signer Di Bello. He began to 
 roam abroad evenings in quest of amuse- 
 ment. There came to him a newborn 
 desire to explore the region of American 
 life that lay beyond the colony's border. 
 For twelve years he had dwelt in its heart 
 and felt the throb of the big city ; but never 
 before had it struck his mind to know more 
 of this terra misteriosa than he could learn 
 from the morning Araldo and the evening 
 Bolletino, two local scions of the corybantic 
 press, which bawled the news of Mulberry 
 in double-column scares, but only whispered 
 in paragraphs of the affairs of New York.
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 With sixty thousand others Mulberry was 
 his world. He had never sought acquaint- 
 ance with the great American monster whose 
 roar filled the surrounding air by day and 
 whose million eyes at night gave the north- 
 ern sky a dim, false dawn. 
 
 From visiting Bowery shows he became 
 a patron of the vaudeville theatres farther up 
 town. At length he discovered the Tender- 
 loin, with its dazzling electric displays at the 
 doors of theatres and drinking places, its 
 phantom gaiety. Resolved to sound the 
 depths of this ocean of lights, he went 
 along with a current that flowed to the box 
 office of the Titania, where the glittering 
 Aztec spectacle, "Zapeaca" was the mag- 
 net, charged with " one hundred American 
 beauties." 
 
 " By Cristoforo Colombo, it is she ! " 
 the grocer exclaimed, as the woman he had 
 hunted in a cityful marched across the stage, 
 bringing up the rear of a long column 
 of high-heeled warriors. Though disguised 
 in a tin spear, a pasteboard shield, and a 
 144
 
 The Peace Preserved 
 
 sheening helmet set jauntily upon her boun- 
 teous raven mane, he knew her at first sight. 
 No mistaking that snub nose, that grand 
 carriage, the plethora of her line, the Eastern 
 warmth of her colour. 
 
 " Brava ! " he cried out, from his seat 
 near the footlights whenever the row of 
 beauties to which she belonged showed 
 themselves in marching order. It was a re- 
 newal of the transport into which her pres- 
 ence had thrown him when in solitary pride 
 she held the stage of La Scala and bleated 
 " Santa Lucia." To the jeers of the people 
 about him he paid no heed, but gave wild, 
 vociferous expression to his delight at find- 
 ing her and feasting his eyes upon her, as 
 she stood there in all the truth of the ballet's 
 scant drapery. 
 
 After the performance he waited in front 
 of the theatre until the lights were extin- 
 guished and the big doors slammed in his 
 face. Well it was for the public peace that 
 his education did not include a knowledge 
 of the stage door, for had he gone round the
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 corner to that entrance not only would he 
 have encountered Juno, but he would have 
 witnessed the infuriating afterpiece of Ber- 
 tino taking her arm and carrying her off to- 
 ward the East side. It is not unlikely that 
 one steel blade at least would have gleamed 
 in the half light of that by-street. But his 
 innocence as to the right door at which to 
 await a lady of the ballet caused a post- 
 ponement of the tragedy. When at last he 
 sought the advice of a cabman and was 
 directed to the proper place it was too 
 late. 
 
 " Satana porco ! " he growled as he started 
 homeward. " I am a grand donkey. This is 
 Saturday. To-morrow is festa. Two whole 
 days must I go without seeing her. But on 
 Monday night we shall meet, and then she 
 shall be my promised wife." 
 
 At the same time Juno was telling Ber- 
 tino of her determination to go with the 
 " Zapeaca " company in a tour of the country. 
 They talked as they moved along on foot 
 toward the Third Avenue Elevated. " It is 
 146
 
 The Peace Preserved 
 
 only ten dollars a week," she said, " with all 
 expenses save the railroad to pay ; but what 
 would you have ? Is it not better than living 
 here the way you support me ? Perhaps 
 you think I will spend my money. Not 
 even in a dream ! A woman expects her 
 husband to support her. To-morrow night, 
 then, I go." 
 
 " How long shall you be absent ? " asked 
 Bertino humbly. 
 
 " Goldoni says six months anyway ; per- 
 haps longer." 
 
 " You will come back to me ? " 
 
 "Yes" and after a pause "when you 
 can support me like a signora." 
 
 " In six months ! " said Bertino exult- 
 antly. " Ha ! then I shall be my own pa- 
 drone. Then you shall see what a man 
 your husband is." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Armando's bust will be here. Don't 
 
 you remember ? The bust that shall bring 
 
 us both fortune. Patience, patience, my 
 
 precious. Mark what I say : With the grand 
 
 147
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 marble of the First Lady of the Land once 
 in my hands I shall quickly put my uncle in 
 a sack. In his face I will snap my fingers 
 and say, ' I beg to inform you, signore, that 
 Juno is my wife.'" 
 
 She made no answer, and Bertino went 
 on building airy mansions of the golden 
 harvest to follow the sale of the sculpture 
 then under way as well as that to be reaped 
 from other marbles to be turned out of Ar- 
 mando's far-off workshop. His words affect- 
 ed Juno in a manner that he little kenned. 
 She had given herself only a fugitive 
 thought 'as to what might happen when the 
 bust should arrive and Bertino should find 
 it an image of his own wife instead of the 
 wife of the President of the United States. 
 When the critical moment came, when the 
 fruit of her roguery stood unveiled, she felt 
 that she should be equal to it that she could 
 shrug her shoulders and meet Bertino's sus- 
 picions with a simple plea of ignorance, and 
 trust to his believing that he himself sent the 
 wrong photograph by mistake. Now she per- 
 148
 
 The Peace Preserved 
 
 ceived that it behooved her to keep friends 
 with him, to guile him with affection, else his 
 suspicion when he should discover the fraud 
 might take the cast of sullen conviction, and 
 in Mulberry who can tell what a husband 
 may do with a false wife, whatever the shade 
 of her duplicity may be ? Moreover, she 
 wanted the bust. Her rude self-conceit 
 thirsted for that effigy in stone of her own 
 dear self. To lose it would be to miss the 
 prize on which she had set her desire when 
 she said " Yes" that day in the Gaffe of the 
 Beautiful Sicilian. 
 
 " Ah, yes," she replied when they stood 
 on the Elevated platform. " We shall put 
 your uncle in a sack and get along well to- 
 gether when the bust is here." 
 
 " Brava, my wife ! " said Bertino, and 
 they entered the train. 
 
 Next day being the Feast of Sunday, 
 
 Bertino and his uncle met at the noon repast 
 
 in Casa Di Bello, as they had done every 
 
 Sunday since Carolina's absence. The grocer 
 
 149
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 was in jubilant spirits, unable to contain his 
 joy over the finding of Juno. 
 
 " Ah, nephew mine," he said, when An- 
 gelica had set a large bowl of steaming chest- 
 nut soup on the board and retired to her 
 listening place. " Not many days, caro mio, 
 and we shall have a fine woman at table with 
 us. Yes, a woman truly magnificent." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " The woman who is to be my wife. I 
 told you once. Can you not divine ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, I will tell you, though it is a great 
 secret : Juno the Superb." 
 
 A spoonful of soup that Bertino was in 
 the act of swallowing took the wrong course 
 and choked him, while Angelica was thrown 
 from her balance at the head of the kitchen 
 stairs and almost fell to the bottom. When 
 Bertino had stopped coughing he gasped: 
 
 "Juno the Superb?" 
 
 " Yes. Is it not famous ? " 
 
 "Your wife?" 
 
 " Yes. Ah, what joy ! " 
 150
 
 The Peace Preserved 
 
 " But it is impossible ! " 
 
 " Not at all, nephew mine. I have found 
 her. I saw her last night for the first time 
 since the Feast of San Giorgio. Ah, how I 
 had searched ! It was in the theatre that I 
 saw her at the Titania, a grand spectacle. 
 So many women, and beautiful ! But not 
 one was the equal of Juno. My word of 
 honour for that. Well, I waited after the 
 representation, but did not see her. To- 
 morrow night, though, I shall say to her : 
 ' Juno, be my wife. In three months come 
 to my house, to Casa Di Bello.' These 
 words will I say to her, and I shall wait at 
 the stage door until she comes out." 
 
 " You will wait many months, then," 
 said Bertino to himself with a smothered 
 chuckle as he fell upon a patty of codfish 
 that Angelica had just brought in. 
 
 " Grand trouble, grand trouble," sighed 
 Angelica, as she prepared the after-dinner 
 zabaglioni* for her master. "If the signo- 
 
 * An Italian eggnog, served hot.
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 rina were here he would not dare bring her 
 to the house. And when she comes and 
 finds the singer has been in Casa Di Bello ! 
 O Maria grandissimo trouble ! " 
 
 In the evening Bertino accompanied 
 Juno to the Grand Central Depot, whence 
 she left for Buffalo with the rest of the hun- 
 dred American beauties of the "Zapeaca" 
 aggregation. 
 
 On Tuesday morning Bertino regarded 
 his uncle quizzically across the breakfast 
 table, but of his second fruitless visit to 
 the Titania's stage door the signore was as 
 silent as the figure of San Patrizio that 
 looked down upon Casa Di Bello from the 
 architrave of the church on the opposite side 
 of Mulberry Street. And for many a day 
 thereafter not a word did he utter concern- 
 ing any magnificent woman that was to be- 
 come his wife. 
 
 152
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE PEACE DISTURBED 
 
 THE bluebird came again to perch on 
 Garibaldi's cap, the baby maples put forth 
 their leaves, and Signer Di Bello told Ber- 
 tino it was time to give the Wooden Bench 
 a new coat of yellow. Once more the fire- 
 escapes on either side of Corso di Mulberry 
 bloomed with potted geraniums ; glisten- 
 ing radishes lent their vernal blush to the 
 vegetable stalls, and the thoughts of Sara 
 the Frier of Pepper Pods turned to summer 
 profits. The building trades had set the 
 winter idlers to work, and the Alley of the 
 Moon resounded no longer with the wild 
 shouts of mora players. The hokey-pokey 
 man, tiding over the cold months with an 
 ancient hand organ, yearned to put away 
 153
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 The Blue Danube and The Marseillaise, and 
 wheel out his gorgeous ice-cream cart. The 
 old gondolier, selling pine-cone seeds at the 
 foot of China Hill, could leave his toe- 
 toaster at home now, and let the May sun- 
 shine economize the charcoal. 
 
 Bertino mixed the paint, selected a cheap 
 brush from the stock of the shop, and set to 
 work on the Bunch. It is doubtful that he 
 heard the swish, swish of the brush. His 
 thoughts were of Juno. Her absence had 
 extended long over the six months, and for 
 more than thirty days he had not heard from 
 her. There was no excuse for this neglect, 
 he reasoned, since her education had been 
 so liberal that she could spell and write as 
 well as any woman in Mulberry. Of the 
 few letters received from her, each had con- 
 tained a tale of woe the woe of a ballet 
 lady striving to live on the road with a sal- 
 ary of ten dollars a week. The missives, 
 rich in terms of endearment, always touched 
 his pocket as well as his heart, and by return 
 mail he never failed to send her a dollar or 
 154
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 two. But why had she been silent this last 
 month of the tour, instead of writing to tell 
 him where to meet her when she should 
 reach the city ? Already she ought to be 
 here. What if she never came back if she 
 forsook him ? In the shock of this terrible 
 thought he upset the pail of yellow just as 
 Signor Di Bello stepped out of the shop. 
 
 " Soul of a cat ! " exclaimed the grocer, 
 the toe of one of his black shoes tipped 
 with the paint. " What the rhinoceros are 
 you about ? Gran Dio, what stupendous 
 stupidity ! " 
 
 Re-entering the shop, he cleaned off the 
 paint, fuming the while and growling. 
 Then he flew out, scowling at Bertino as 
 he passed, and made straight for the Gaffe 
 of the Three Gardens. 
 
 " The monkey ! " said Bertino to himself. 
 "When the bust arrives I'll be rid of him." 
 
 A moment afterward the letter carrier 
 
 handed him a large envelope addressed in 
 
 a big, round hand to " Bertino Manconi, 
 
 Esq." It was from a customhouse agent, 
 
 155
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 announcing the arrival of the bust, and 
 offering to attend to the business of clearing 
 it. To this end it would be necessary for 
 Bertino to forward the amount of the duty, 
 a hundred and forty dollars. He put the let- 
 ter in his pocket, filled with apprehension of 
 trouble, for his English was so weak that he 
 could not make out the meaning of the part 
 about the duty, though he suspected that 
 the sum of a hundred and forty dollars was 
 in some way required of him. That even- 
 ing, after he had lugged in the Wooden 
 Bunch and locked the shop door, he took 
 the mysterious paper to Signor Tomato, 
 who told him the awful truth. 
 
 " It must be a great work of art," said 
 the banker ; " very valuable." 
 
 " Valuable ! " said Bertino. " Ah, caro 
 mio, if you only knew ! Well, I will tell 
 you. It is a bust of her Majesty the Presi- 
 dentessa." 
 
 " What Presidentessa ? " 
 
 " Of the United States." 
 
 " St. Januarius ! Is it possible ?" 
 156
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 One hundred and forty dollars ! The sum 
 rose like an impassable mountain between 
 Bertino and the hopes he had cherished so 
 long and fervidly. As well have been forty 
 thousand. He could not pay the duty. 
 Marriage had eaten up the savings brought 
 from Italy and what he had earned since. 
 When Signor Tomato told him that the 
 Government would retain the marble until 
 the impost were paid, he blotted out the 
 poor lad's fondest anticipations his dreams 
 of release from Signor Di Bello and the 
 misery of his secret marriage, the freedom 
 to say to his uncle, " Juno is my wife." To 
 the bust he had looked forward as to a loyal 
 friend, who should come some day to lift 
 him to the plane whereon a man ought to 
 stand. But now that the friend was near, 
 some power which he comprehended but 
 vaguely had clapped her in a prison, from 
 which the future held no promise of letting 
 her go. There came over him the terrible 
 throbbing of blood and the fire of brain that 
 he felt the night he crouched, burning with 
 157
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 suspicion, in the doorway with a ready knife 
 waiting for Juno. He could not have an- 
 swered if asked just now whom he wished 
 to kill. Some infernal prank was playing 
 at his expense, and the time had come to 
 end it. A strange calm possessed him as he 
 began to cast about for the joker. He had 
 been walking in Mulberry Street. At the 
 corner of Spring Street he entered the Gaffe 
 of the Three Gardens. Dropping into a 
 chair near the door, he ordered a glass of 
 Marsala ; but before the waiter had re- 
 turned with the wine, Bertino sprang up 
 and darted out of the place. At a table 
 in the caffVs depth he had seen Juno and 
 Signor Di Bello with their heads together ! 
 Holy blood of the angels ! 
 
 No need of looking further for the 
 joker. His wife returns after six months, 
 does not let her husband know, and goes 
 first to meet another. Yes, the prank has 
 gone far enough. 
 
 It was only a block to Casa Di Bello. 
 In a few minutes he was there and in his 
 158
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 room. When he came into the street again 
 he had his right hand in his coat pocket. 
 
 The meeting of Juno and Signor Di 
 Bello came about in this manner : The 
 signore was walking in Mulberry Street, 
 on his way to the caffk to smoke an after- 
 dinner Cavour, and help some good com- 
 rades empty a flask of Chianti. Suddenly 
 he stopped, stood still, his eyes staring and 
 his mouth a gulf of astonishment. 
 
 " By the Egg of Columbus ! " he ex- 
 claimed. " It is she, or I am dreaming ! " 
 
 There she was, moving toward him on 
 the same side of the street, dressed no bet- 
 ter than when he last came face to face with 
 her, but her grand air not a whit impaired. 
 
 " At last, at last I find you ! " he cried, 
 catching up her hand and kissing it with a 
 loud smack. "Ah! the good God knows 
 how I have hunted for you. But joy, joy ! 
 I find you ! I see you ! My eyes look into 
 yours ! Come, away from here ! Ah, the 
 Three Gardens ! Let us enter. I have
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 something to say something very impor- 
 tant." 
 
 He drew her into the caffk, and sought a 
 table far from the door. 
 
 " What do you want to say to me ? " 
 asked Juno. She had responded not at all 
 to Signor Di Bello's passionate greeting. 
 
 " Ah, my angel ! I want to say to you 
 what I would have said long ago if I had 
 found you. The hunt I have had ! And 
 once when I caught sight of you, it was 
 only to have you vanish again like a wine 
 bubble. Where have you been ? How 
 beautiful you are ! Oh, the grand hunt ! " 
 
 " Why have you hunted for me ? " she 
 said, releasing her hand from his, and mov- 
 ing her chair. 
 
 "To offer you what you demanded a 
 wedding ring." 
 
 " You wish to make me your wife ? " 
 
 " Yes. Before the Madonna, it is true ! 
 Months and months ago I was ready." 
 
 For a moment Juno was silent, contem- 
 plative. Then she said, eying him steadily : 
 1 60
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 " Would you have married me before I 
 left Mulberry?" 
 
 " Yes ; Dio my witness." 
 
 " Why did you not come to me and 
 say so ? " 
 
 " But I could not find you. My nephew, 
 Bertino, will tell you that I speak truth. I 
 told him that I intended to make you my 
 wife." 
 
 " When did you tell him that?" she asked 
 quickly, leaning forward and awaiting the 
 answer eagerly, while Signer Di Bello strove 
 to recollect. 
 
 " Ah, yes, now I have it," he said at 
 length. " I remember because it was the 
 day after my sister Carolina sailed for Ge- 
 nova two days after the Feast of San 
 Giorgio, my saint." 
 
 The recollection rose clear to Juno that 
 it was on the day following Carolina's de- 
 parture that she and Bertino went to the 
 little rectory in Second Avenue. And 
 equally vivid to her consciousness stood 
 forth the inflaming truth that Bertino, with 
 161
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 full knowledge of Signer Di Bello's purpose 
 to take her for wife, had hastened their 
 union in order to checkmate his rival. So 
 this moneyless clerk had tricked her into 
 marriage, and cheated her of a rich husband ! 
 
 " Maledetto .' '" she said in a half-stifled 
 voice. At the same instant there flashed in 
 her brain a resolve to rid herself of Bertino. 
 
 " Why maledetto f " asked the signore. 
 " Do you not accept my offer ? " 
 
 " Another time I will give you my an- 
 swer," she said, rising. " I must go." 
 
 They stood outside, he holding her hand 
 and looking up into her face with worship- 
 ful eyes. Suddenly she drew back, and 
 without a parting word took herself off. A 
 face that she had seen in a near-by doorway 
 made her eager to end the interview. She 
 had gone but a few paces when Bertino 
 was by her side. 
 
 " So you are here, and putting horns on 
 
 your husband ? " he said, gripping her arm. 
 
 "Welcome, signora, welcome!" A smile 
 
 of hellish mockery played on his livid face. 
 
 162
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 " No, I am not," she pleaded, a tremor 
 in her voice, because she knew her race. 
 
 He laughed, and gripped her arm tighter. 
 
 " I know," he said. " You want a rich 
 man." Thtn, with his lips close to her ear : 
 " Do you think you will live ? " 
 
 " It is not my fault," she said, still plead- 
 ing. " What can a woman do when a man 
 plays the fool and annoys her ? " 
 
 " He annoys you ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, seizing her chance. 
 " If you were a man you would make him 
 leave me alone. I do not want him." 
 
 " I will kill the dog ! " said Bertino, let- 
 ting go of her arm. A moment he regarded 
 her with the old tenderness, but a black look 
 settled again on his face, and he asked slow- 
 ly, " Why did you not let me know you 
 were back ? " 
 
 " I have not been in the city an hour. 
 The shop was closed. Luigia the Garlic 
 Woman will tell you that I asked her if she 
 knew where you had gone. I was going to 
 send a note to Casa Di Bello. We met in
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 the street and he annoyed me." She 
 thought now only of saving herself. 
 
 " By the heart of Mary !" he said, "this 
 shall stop. I will go to him and tell him 
 you are my wife." 
 
 "No, no ! Don't do that. Wait wait 
 until you are rid of him until you are your 
 own padrone until the bust is here and you 
 have sold it and are a free man." 
 
 " The bust ? " he said hopelessly. " It is 
 here, but as well might it have remained in 
 Armando's studio." 
 
 " What ?" she said. " It is here ? Where ? 
 Let me see it." 
 
 " No ; I can not. The Government has 
 it, and will keep it until I pay one hundred 
 and forty dollars. Seven hundred lire! 
 Gesu Bambino ! Where shall I get them ? " 
 
 As they walked on he recounted the dis- 
 tress that had overtaken the supposed First 
 Lady of the Land ; her captivity in the 
 hands of revenue officials, and his inability 
 to pay the kingly ransom demanded. This 
 news was a cut and thrust at the hope 
 164
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 whereon Juno's crude self-love had fed for 
 many a month, and it killed the solitary 
 motive that made her hold to Bertino. By 
 neither word nor sign, however, did she be- 
 tray her disgust and anger ; she even feigned 
 sympathy, and bade him be of good cheer, 
 saying tenderly that ill fortune would not 
 dog them forever; that by luck or pluck 
 they should get possession of the bust, and 
 carry out his plan for money-making. These 
 were the first heartening words she had ever 
 spoken to him the first kindness he could 
 recall as coming from her lips. Despite the 
 black cloud that had risen so suddenly from 
 behind the customhouse, a sweet rapture 
 filled his soul. What mattered it all ? his 
 wife loved him. Their joys and griefs were 
 one. The loneliness that had burdened his 
 spirit since the day of his marriage departed, 
 and his heart lost its bitterness. 
 
 " True, my precious," he said, pressing her 
 hand, "we love each other, and shall know 
 how to manage in spite of the Government." 
 
 At the same time Juno said to herself, 
 165
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " How can I get rid of the fool and marry 
 his uncle ? " 
 
 They came to a halt at the mouth of the 
 Alley of the Moon, a wide passage between 
 two tenements that led to a rear court 
 heaped with push-carts laid up for the night. 
 Halfway up the alley a large gas lamp with 
 a sputtering light hung over a doorway. On 
 its green glass showed the words, Restau- 
 rant of Santa Lucia. In three dingy rooms 
 above, Luigia the Garlic Woman lived with 
 a lodger known to the public of Mulberry 
 as Chiara the Hair Comber. The latter 
 had her shop and living apartment in the 
 " front " room, looking on the alley, and 
 directly over the green light, which shed its 
 rays on her sign, Hair Combing in Signora 
 Style, Two Cents. The remaining room 
 of the trio had been engaged that day by 
 Juno, who had merely ribbed when she told 
 Bertino that she had been in town only an 
 hour. It was the same humble chamber she 
 had occupied during her brief career of star- 
 hood on the stage of La Scala. 
 1 66
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 " I have come here because it costs only 
 twenty soldi a day," she said to Bertino, "and 
 here I shall remain until until we can do 
 better. Good night, my dear husband. 
 Courage. Be allegro, and our fortune will 
 sing." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; allegro I will be. Good night, 
 my precious wife. Until to-morrow." 
 
 In the solitude of her dreary little coop, 
 while the hoarse shouts of mora players in 
 the restaurant below sounded in her ears, 
 Juno set her wits calmly to the knotty puzzle 
 that the day had brought forth : How to get 
 rid of her husband that she might accept 
 Signer Di Bello's offer of marriage ? A few 
 grains of poison dropped in wine for Bertino 
 to drink would accomplish the needful state 
 of widowhood, but this method, she discerned, 
 had its faults. It was likely to bring man- 
 hunters from the Central Office about one's 
 head, and detectives were given to putting 
 awkward questions. Moreover, they had a 
 trick of locking up persons whose answers 
 did not suit them. No ; in a strictly private 
 167
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 matter of this kind it would never do to have 
 the police meddling. That might spoil all. 
 She thought of other plans of removal that 
 she had heard talked about in the Porto 
 quarter of Naples. And while she con- 
 sidered these there darted into her mind one 
 of those mystic shafts of memory that come 
 unbidden by cognate suggestion. It was a 
 Sunday afternoon, and she and Bertino, 
 walking in the suburbs, stood upon Wash- 
 ington Bridge. From the height of the 
 great span she looked down again on the 
 slopes of the Harlem Valley beautiful in 
 the gold and flame of autumn ; the sedge 
 marshes that waved to the temperate wind, 
 and far below, growing narrow in the dis- 
 tance, the silvery ribbon of water that glim- 
 mered yet faintly in the gloam of sunset. 
 It was one of those Sundays that Bertino 
 brought her a package of bob veal, and she 
 recalled the desire that had seized her to 
 throw him over the parapet. Had she done 
 so in the darkness that soon fell not a soul 
 would have known. What she could have 
 1 68
 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 done then she could do now. By this method 
 there would be no police knocking at one's 
 door and prying into secrets. The quicker 
 he were out of the way the better, and next 
 Sunday, if no moon shone, the thing could 
 be done. With deep satisfaction she viewed 
 her brawny arms and stalwart frame and felt 
 sure of the strength needful to execute the 
 task without bungling. Then she went to 
 bed and slept soundly. 
 
 But the morrow had in its teeth a fine 
 marplot for her little tragedy. It happened 
 in the evening in this wise : The shutters of 
 the shop put up, Bertino hastened to the 
 Restaurant of Santa Lucia, where Juno had 
 promised to await him. He opened the 
 door, and what he saw caused him to pause 
 on the threshold, but for only a moment. 
 She was not alone. Seated by her side on 
 the rough wooden bench that flanked the 
 long oil-clothed table was Signer Di Bello. 
 Their backs were turned to the door, but 
 Bertino knew both at first glance. On the 
 
 opposite side of the board the gaslight fell 
 12 169
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 upon a row of dusky faces, into the caverns 
 of which large quantities of spaghetti coiled 
 about forks were being despatched. In other 
 parts of the low-ceiled room, muggy with 
 smoke of two-cent cigars, coatless men, en- 
 gaged in furious combats at cards, shouted 
 "and rained sledge-hammer blows on the 
 tables. Before any one had seen him enter, 
 Bertino sprang across the floor like a jaguar 
 and snatched from his uncle's hand a knife 
 with which he was in the act of conveying 
 a bit of sheep's-milk cheese to his mouth. 
 Then without ado the gudgeon who believed 
 that his wife was annoyed fell to the per- 
 formance of a husband's duty. It was a wild 
 thrust, but well enough aimed to have found 
 a mortal course had the tool been of the 
 standard pattern used in Mulberry for odd 
 jobs of this kind the long thin steel, fine 
 tempered, and needlelike of point. As it 
 chanced, Signor Di Bello's left shoulder 
 blade was stabbed flesh deep, and a second 
 lunge only slit his coat sleeve, because he 
 dropped sidewise out of harm's way just as 
 170

 
 The Peace Disturbed 
 
 Bertino brought down the knife again. 
 Every eye in the restaurant had witnessed 
 the second blow and the fall of Signor Di 
 Bello from the end of the bench, so the con- 
 clusion was instant and general that the odd 
 job had been finished. 
 
 " Fly ! " they cried, one and all, rising and 
 pointing to the door. " Your work is done." 
 
 Bertino stood a moment, grasping the 
 knife and looking at Juno ; then he flung it 
 down and made for the door. One of the 
 card players held it open for him as he passed 
 out ; for the vendetta is a man's sacred right 
 a strictly private matter to be settled by 
 him in his own way, free of outside interfer- 
 ence. Enough that he use the genteel knife 
 and not the clumsy pistol, which is seldom 
 sure of its mark, and brings the police to 
 make trouble for one's friends. 
 
 171
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 YELLOW BOOTS AND ORANGE BLOSSOMS 
 
 NEVER had a knife-play produced such 
 general commotion in Mulberry. Though 
 the motive for a removal was an affair where- 
 with outsiders seldom concerned themselves, 
 the whole colony thirsted in this distinguished 
 instance to know the wherefore of Bertino's 
 desire to have his uncle's life. This was a 
 tidal wave of opportunity for Sara the Frier 
 of Pepper Pods, and splendidly she rode 
 upon it to renewed fortune. For months 
 she had eaten the wormwood of a dishonoured 
 oracle. She had told the people that rival 
 loves dwelt beneath the roof of Casa Di 
 Bello, and that some day grand trouble would 
 be the fruit ; but as time wore on and the 
 volcano gave no hint of eruption Sara's pa- 
 172
 
 Yellow Boots and Orange Blossoms 
 
 trons flung the prophecy in her teeth and 
 bought their fried pepper pods of an upstart 
 competitor from the Porta del Carmine of 
 Naples. Now she was able to brush the 
 under side of her chin with the back of her 
 hand when the aforetime scoffers passed, and 
 ask triumphantly, " Who was it, my stupid 
 one, that foretold grand trouble in Casa Di 
 Bello ? " No longer could her soothsaying 
 power be doubted, and the morning after the 
 letting of Signor Di Bello's blood many an 
 old customer, eager for news, returned to 
 Sara's frying pan, which sizzled all day with 
 the steady rush of trade. In the singsong 
 staccato of Avelino she told all and much to 
 boot of what she knew touching the great 
 scandal. Who but she had gone to Signor 
 Di Bello and told him how Bertino had been 
 seen to kiss the singer, and who but she had 
 seen the stiletto that her words had caused 
 to gleam in his eye ? " But it was the other 
 that played the knife," her listeners would 
 observe, critically. This was Sara's cue to 
 nod her head mysteriously, say " No matter,"
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 and look wiser than the plaster cast of Dante 
 that brooded, yellow with age and dusty, in 
 the window of Signor Sereno the Under- 
 taker. And no more light could any one 
 in Mulberry shed on the matter, for Juno 
 and Bertino had made excellent work of 
 guarding the secret of their marriage. 
 
 Public interest in the episode declined 
 when, after one day of closure, the shutters 
 were taken down and business went on as 
 usual at the Sign of the Wooden Bunch. 
 A new assistant, to take the place of the 
 fugitive Bertino, was on hand ; so was Signor 
 Di Bello, who looked not a hair the worse 
 for the inexpert carving of which he had 
 been the subject. While the patrons came 
 and went he sat near the entrance, sprawled 
 in his low chair, preoccupied, but answering 
 with a grunt the many inquiries about his 
 health. The etiquette of Mulberry permits 
 no closer reference than this to removal 
 matters. A subject of vast import and de- 
 manding the grocer's instant attention had 
 sprouted that morning. It was in a let- 
 174
 
 Yellow Boots and Orange Blossoms 
 
 ter received from Carolina. He had just 
 reached a conclusion a fact he betokened 
 by dealing himself a smart slap on the knee 
 when the form of Juno appeared between 
 him and the sunshine that poured in at the 
 shop door. 
 
 " Welcome, welcome, my angel ! " he 
 cried, springing up, but quickly pulling a 
 grimace of pain as the wound in the shoulder 
 gave a twinge. "Ah ! what good fortune ! 
 You are here, and so am I. See what kind 
 of a man is Signor Di Bello ! To me a 
 knife in the shoulder is a trifle. Already I 
 am well enough to go with you to the 
 church. Are you ready, mia vita f " 
 
 "Wait a few days," she said, with her 
 frigid calm, "then I will tell you." 
 
 " Porco Diavolo ! Wait, wait! Always 
 wait. I tell you I can not wait." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I have my reason." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Ah! carina, don't you know? Well, 
 it is because I can not live without you." 
 175
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 He said it with his upturned eyes pouring 
 forth a sea of adoration. Still it was only 
 half the truth. Had he disclosed the other 
 half he would have told of his sister's letter 
 saying that she intended to sail for New 
 York within a week. His spirit had quaked 
 at the thought of bringing a wife to Casa 
 Di Bello when the redoubtable Carolina 
 should be on the ground, and the conviction 
 grew upon him that when the moment came 
 he should not be able to muster the courage 
 needed for such an enterprise. Wherefore 
 he resolved to wed Juno and plant her in 
 Casa Di Bello in advance of Carolina's re- 
 entrance upon the scene. 
 
 " You have your reason for not waiting," 
 she said, impressed not at all by his amatory 
 demonstration. " Good. I have my reason 
 for waiting." 
 
 She walked out of the shop without say- 
 ing more, leaving him wondering if, after 
 all, he were going to lose her. As she 
 made her way through the hordes of Mul- 
 berry she was the target of every eye and 
 176
 
 Yellow Boots and Orange Blossoms 
 
 tongue. Men gazed at her in admiration 
 and women pelted her with scornful darts, 
 because of her proud bearing as well as her 
 coquetry that had set blood against blood. 
 
 " A rogue of a woman," said a brown 
 daughter of Sicily, fanning the flies from 
 her naked babe. 
 
 " Rather. Who knows what she is or 
 where she came from ? " 
 
 To all of this and much more Juno 
 moved on in haughty disregard. At the 
 mouth of the Alley of the Moon she was 
 greeted with profit-receiving deference by 
 her landlady, Luigia the Garlic Woman, 
 who handed her a letter. Bertino's writing ! 
 Seated on the bed in her darkling cubicle 
 upstairs, she read the missive, which was 
 postmarked Jamaica, Long Island : 
 
 CARA JUNO : Did I kill him ? Address 
 Post Office, Jamaica, Long Island. B. 
 
 For a moment she sat staring at but 
 not seeing a gaudy print of the Sistine 
 Madonna that hung in a faint shaft of light. 
 177
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Then she sprang up and hurried down the 
 narrow staircase to the restaurant. Seated 
 in the place on the long bench that Signer 
 Di Bello occupied when Bertino broke up 
 their little meeting, she called for writing 
 materials and penned these lines : 
 
 CARO BERTINO : Your uncle is very low. 
 Will write soon. J. 
 
 As she carried the letter to the red box 
 on the corner her stoical face gave no token 
 of satisfaction felt by reason of the simple 
 but clean solution of a vexed problem which 
 Bertino's letter had supplied. Ten minutes 
 later she stood in the doorway of Signor Di 
 Bello's shop. 
 
 " Ah, angelo mio, welcome again ! " was 
 his greeting. Then with an air of secrecy : 
 " But sh ! sh ! Not a word here. 
 That boy ! His ears are very large and his 
 tongue is long. Every word we said before 
 he heard. Come, let us go for a promenade." 
 
 They crossed to Paradise Park and 
 mounted the broad staircase to the pavilion 
 178
 
 Yellow Boots and Orange Blossoms 
 
 where the band plays, and took seats in a 
 corner apart from the gabbling women and 
 their swarms of yellow children. Without 
 ado she came to the point : 
 
 " My answer is ready. I will be your 
 wife." 
 
 "Joy !" he cried. " But it must be at 
 once. Within the week. The next Feast 
 of Sunday." 
 
 " The Feast of Sunday." 
 
 " Ah, what a wedding it shall be ! The 
 finest ever seen in Mulberry. Listen, mia 
 diletta, and I will give you my idea. In an 
 open carriage, with white and purple plumes 
 in the horses' heads, we shall go to the Church 
 of San Patrizio. Shall it be San Patrizio 
 or San Loretto ? For me San Patrizio is 
 most agreeable." 
 
 " For me too," said Juno. " At San 
 Loretto one finds too many Sicilian pigs." 
 
 " You are right. In the afternoon, then, 
 you wait in the restaurant of Santa Lucia, all 
 ready in your white gown and orange blos- 
 soms. Ah, how magnificent you will " 
 
 179
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " Bah ! " she interrupted. " White gown 
 and orange blossoms ! Where do you think 
 I am to get them ? Let me tell you some- 
 thing, signore : I am poor." 
 
 " By the chains of Colombo, then, I am 
 not !" he exclaimed jubilantly. "You shall 
 have them, and the finest in all Grand Street. 
 Here, see what kind of a man your promised 
 spouse is ! " 
 
 From an inside pocket of his waistcoat 
 he drew a large calfskin wallet bound about 
 many times with stout cord, and took from 
 the plenteous store therein one ten-dollar 
 note. This he handed to Juno with a 
 proud " There my angel." 
 
 " Thank you," she said faintly, turning 
 over the bill. 
 
 " And yellow boots you shall have," he 
 went on ; " just like the ones Signorina 
 Crotelli had last Sunday. I saw them when 
 she and Pietro went up the church steps. 
 Which do you like best, yellow or white 
 boots ? " 
 
 " I think yellow boots for a bride are 
 1 80
 
 Yellow Boots and Orange Blossoms 
 
 very sympathetic," she answered, folding 
 the bank note and tying it in a corner of 
 her handkerchief. And without a moment's 
 delay she set off for Grand Street, where 
 the flower of Mulberry does its shopping. 
 
 Two hours afterward, her arms heaped 
 with bundles, and every cent of the ten dol- 
 lars gone, she appeared in the kitchen of her 
 landlady and shocked her with tidings of 
 the nuptials so near at hand. 
 
 " Body of the Serpent ! " remarked the 
 Garlic Woman. " In the morning you are 
 a woman without hope, and in the evening 
 you come back the promised wife of a rich 
 signore." 
 
 While she shook her head in doubt and 
 suspicion, Juno spread out many yards of 
 purple satin, white lace and pink lining, a 
 wreath of muslin orange blossoms that 
 should give no poisonous odour, a pair of 
 white stockings, and the sympathetic yel- 
 low boots. As the bent crone gazed at the 
 finery her zincky visage lost the hard cast 
 put upon it by a lifetime of penny-splitting 
 181
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 bargain and sale. A tender light filled her 
 eye, and she lived again in the sweet days 
 of her youth. Where was the soldier boy 
 that her girlish heart loved ? Where the 
 dashing Bersagliere that led her to church 
 in the mountain village ? A great mound 
 in northern Africa the tomb of a whole 
 regiment could answer. Across the mind 
 of Juno there flashed a thought of her hus- 
 band and the crime upon which she was 
 about to enter, but the next instant it per- 
 ished as she snatched up the purple satin to 
 preserve it from danger, for old Luigia had 
 stained it with a tear. 
 
 They plied their needles early and late, 
 and when the Feast of Sunday dawned Juno 
 was ready for the church. All Mulberry 
 knew of the great event in preparation, and 
 made high store of attending the ceremony 
 at the altar ; but only the first families of the 
 Torinesi, Milanesi, and Genovesi, and the 
 upper lights of the Calabriani, the Siciliani, 
 and the Napolitani were bidden to the feast 
 at Casa Di Bello. When Angelica received 
 182
 
 Yellow Boots and Orange Blossoms 
 
 the command to make ready this feast, she 
 declared to Signer Di Bello that a maledic- 
 tion had fallen on the house. To this he 
 returned only a stout guffaw. It was a ter- 
 rible blow to the cook, who was in full ac- 
 cord with Carolina's policy of a closed door 
 to wives. Many months she had longed for 
 the return of her mistress, lest this very 
 calamity might betide during her absence. 
 O poor Signorina Carolina ! To come back 
 just too late to keep out the Napolitana 
 the baggage above all others against whom 
 she wished to close the door. She knew it, 
 she knew it ! In her dreams she had seen 
 Juno the Superb queening it over her in 
 the kitchen, ordering more garlic in this, 
 more red pepper in that, and making every- 
 thing fit only for Neapolitan pigs to eat. 
 Maria have mercy, but she must obey. So, 
 taking up her big basket, she had gone forth 
 to market, with face long and voice doleful, 
 and poured into the eager ears of Sara the 
 Frier of Pepper Pods and the group of 
 raven heads always about her, the story of 
 183
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 the dreadful rush going on to plant in Casa 
 Di Bello the woman whom Carolina had 
 crossed the seas to keep out. 
 
 Though a stone of composure in all the 
 other turns that her adventuring course had 
 taken, Juno lost her calm a little in the haste 
 and flurry of constructing the nuptial gown. 
 As an effect she failed until the last moment 
 to discharge a duty very needful to the suc- 
 cess of her plans. The oversight did not 
 occur to her until Sunday afternoon, at the 
 moment when she was seated in the chair of 
 Chiara the Hair Comber, receiving the mar- 
 vellous wedding coiffure for which that artist 
 was famous. The hair dressing accom- 
 plished, Juno lost no time in going to the 
 restaurant and penning these words, taking 
 great care with the spelling, and making 
 sure that the address, " Post Office, Jamaica, 
 Long Island," should be correct : 
 
 DEAR BERTINO : Your uncle died to- 
 day. Fly from America. The man-hunters 
 are after you ! J. 
 
 184
 
 Then she put on the gorgeous purple 
 gown, and called the Garlic Woman to but- 
 ton the yellow boots. And while the bells 
 of San Patrizio pealed, and the people, 
 dressed in their Sunday clothes, moved 
 toward the church gates, Juno waited 
 waited for the open carriage with its plumed 
 horses that should bear her to the altar with 
 Signer Di Bello. 
 
 13 185
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 FAILURE OF BAXCA TOMATO 
 
 . THE banking house and steamship office 
 of Signer Tomato had reached the border 
 of a crisis. Inch by inch the despairing 
 padrone had seen his well of profit dry up. 
 No longer did labour contractors come to 
 him for men, and for more than a year he 
 had not taken in a soldo of commission on 
 wages. Even Anselmo the baker, who for 
 two loyal years had bought a four-dollar 
 draft on Naples, took his business to an up- 
 start rival, and people sneered at the sham 
 packages of Italian currency exposed in the 
 little window. The slow but ever-crumb- 
 ling wreck had left him at last with only the 
 steamship tickets to cling to ; but even this 
 spar of hope failed one day when a ship of 
 1 86
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 the Great Imperial International General 
 Navigation Company was stabbed to death 
 off the Banks, and a half dozen of Signor 
 Tomato's clients returned to Mulberry minus 
 their tin pans, mattresses, and other baggage, 
 but well charged with denunciation of the 
 agent who sold them the trouble. There- 
 after it would have been as easy to get 
 home-goers to take passage in a balloon as 
 to book them for the G. I. I. G. N. C. 
 line. 
 
 Crushing as it was, this disaster might 
 have been tided over had not a long season 
 of domestic reverses added to the difficulty. 
 For three years there had been no christen- 
 ing party in the tiny parlour back of the nan- 
 keen sail, and during that period the bank's 
 advertisement in the Progresso had appeared 
 without the famous foot line, "Also a baby 
 will be taken to nurse." The first families 
 of Mulberry had always bid high for 
 Bridget's offices, and the advent of a new 
 Tomato had never failed to mark an era of 
 prosperity in the bank's history. Bridget's 
 187
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 vogue was greatest among the Neapolitan 
 mothers, who do not hold with the Ameri- 
 can dairy wife that it is seldom the biggest 
 kine that yield the richest quarts. But psy- 
 chological reasons were not lacking for the 
 favour in which the rugged Irish woman 
 was held. In the minds of her patrons was 
 rooted the conviction that for a child of 
 Italy, destined to fight out the battle of life 
 in New York, there could be no better start 
 than the " inflooence " of a nurse of Bridget's 
 race. 
 
 The brave figure she presented at these 
 stages ! How all Mulberry stood dazzled as 
 she passed, splendid in the time-honoured 
 costume of the Neapolitan balia ! Tradition 
 demanded a deep-plaited vesture of blue silk 
 or crimson satin, which could be hired of any 
 midwife. Bridget always rejoiced when her 
 employer said crimson satin, for that was her 
 favourite as well as Signor Tomato's. But 
 there were other points of the outfit that 
 gave her little delight. These were the 
 smoothing and shining with pomatum of her 
 188
 
 Bridget in balia array.
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 crow-black hair, and the sweetening of it 
 with cologne ; a gilded comb in her topknot, 
 and pendent therefrom long broad ribbons 
 to match her gown ; rosettes in her ears, sil- 
 ver or pearly beads wound in double strings 
 circling her ample neck ; rings galore on 
 her chubby fingers. And the skirt ! Short 
 enough to show her insteps, white-stock- 
 inged in low-cut shoes. Seen from a dis- 
 tance, moving not without pride across Para- 
 dise Park, she resembled a huge macaw or 
 other bird of tropical plumage. 
 
 " Troth, it's the divvil's own ghinny I am 
 now, and no misthake," she had told her- 
 self more than once when a new engagement 
 found her in balia array. " Phat they'd be 
 sayin' at home to the loikes iv me I don' 
 knaw, and may I niver hear. Musha, mother 
 darlint, did y' iver drame they'd make a day- 
 goe iv yer colleen Biddy ? Niver moind, 
 it's an honest pinny I'm layin' up agin the 
 rainy day whin there's not a cint comin' to 
 the bank." 
 
 But the rainy days had been too many, 
 189
 
 The Last Lady 'of Mulberry 
 
 and the fruits of those golden times were 
 always eaten up. Since the loss of the Great 
 Imperial Company's ship the tide of preju- 
 dice had submerged Signor Tomato. Peo- 
 ple would not go to him even to exchange a 
 ten-lire note for American coin. Public sen- 
 timent vented itself also against the Jack 
 Tar, that steadfast emblem of the bank's 
 steamship connection which had stood at the 
 door day and night for half a decade. The 
 hand of juvenile Mulberry had ever been 
 against the old sailor, but now he was an 
 infuriating mark, an object of fiercest hatred 
 to the relatives and friends of the passen- 
 gers who lost their tin pans and mattresses. 
 Passing by, they would draw their knives 
 and slash at his neck, or thrust the point at 
 his heart. Every night brought fresh at- 
 tacks upon his weather-beaten person with 
 axes and clubs until the banker found his 
 silent partner's occiput lying in the gutter 
 one morning. This was the last fragment 
 of the head that he had been losing for 
 weeks. Signor Tomato took the incident 
 190
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 as an omen of blackest import. An hour 
 later he said to Bridget : 
 
 " Guess ees-a come de end-a now. Doan' 
 know what ees-a goin' do everybodee. All-a 
 black, so black. What-a good I am ? Tell-a 
 me dat. Tink I'm better goin' put myself off 
 de Bridge. I'm do it, you bet, if I'm not-a 
 love you and lil Pat and Mike and Biddy." 
 
 " That'll do ye, now," said Bridget, put- 
 ting her arm around the little man, who 
 pulled at a black pipe. "That'll do ye, 
 Dominick Tomah-toe. Off the Bridge is ut ? 
 Not while yer own wife's here to kape hould 
 iv yer coat-tails. Phat's that sayin' ye have 
 about the clouds with the silver insides ? 
 Sure, I know it in Eetalyun when I hear it, 
 but I can't say it in English. Phat is it, 
 annyhow ? " 
 
 He shook his head gravely. " To-day I 
 not-a tink of proverbi. My poor wife, you 
 not-a know how moocha granda troub' have 
 your Domenico." 
 
 "Arrah, do I not? Mebbe it's mesilf 
 that knows betther than ye. But don't be 
 191
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 talkin' iv the Bridge, Dominick dear, whin 
 ye have so many iv thim that love ye. Look 
 at us now, will ye ? Here's mesilf, and " 
 she went to the door and called " Pat, Mike, 
 Biddy ! Here to your fatther this minute, 
 and show him the f rinds he has." 
 
 Three tousled black heads and bright 
 faces came trooping into the bank. Signer 
 and Signora Tomato caught them up and 
 covered them with caresses. 
 
 "What's the matter, mah ?" asked Mike, 
 the oldest, looking up into his mother's tear- 
 ful eyes. 
 
 " Nothin' at all, Mickey darlint ; nothin' 
 but the warrum weather. Sure yer fatther's 
 always downhareted wid the hate, and it's 
 mesilf that do be shweatin' around the eyes. 
 Away wid yez now ; back to yer play, me 
 jewels, but kape forninst the shop." 
 
 " I can't play any good," said Mike 
 glumly. 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 " 'Cause Paddy's got the roller-skate." 
 
 Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat, 
 192
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 and could not help thinking of the affluent 
 past when the babies " was comin'," and there 
 was a whole pair of roller-skates in the 
 family. 
 
 " Never moind, laddie," she said, " be a 
 good bye, and ye'll have the handle iv the 
 feather duster to play cat with." 
 
 Mike danced for glee, for here was a joy 
 hitherto tasted only in dreams. Ever since 
 its detachment from the worn-out feathers 
 the handle of the duster had been used as a 
 rod of correction, often raised in warning 
 but rarely brought down upon a naughty 
 Tomato. 
 
 " Me want somethin'," said little Biddy, 
 an eloquent plea in her big black-walnut 
 eyes, while Mike made off with the precious 
 stick. 
 
 " Iv coorse ye do, me ruby, and some- 
 thin' foine ye'll have, be the Lord Alexan- 
 der ! Here, take ye this, and go beyandt to 
 Signory Foli and buy the best bit iv wather- 
 melyun she has on the boord. Moind ye get 
 it ripe, and tell the signory if she gives ye 
 193
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 annything else I'll be down there and pull 
 the false wig off her. Away wid ye now, 
 and come back with the rind." 
 
 She had reached in the window and 
 taken from a very small collection of coins 
 one cent. Her husband witnessed the act 
 of rash extravagance without even a look of 
 reproach, which argued that the crisis in the 
 bank's affairs had driven him to an unwonted 
 mood. Presently Biddy bounded into the 
 room bearing a thin watermelon rind on 
 which scarcely a trace of the red remained. 
 Bridget took it, and while her offspring stood 
 as though used to the treatment, rubbed it 
 over her face with loving care, thus affirming 
 the Neapolitan tenet that the watermelon is 
 thrice blessed among fruits, for with it one 
 eats, drinks, and washes the face. The ma- 
 ternal apron applied as a towel, Biddy broke 
 away and made for Paradise Park, where she 
 was soon romping with other tangle-haired 
 youngsters around the band stand. 
 
 After a brief silence, during which Pat 
 had shot by the door on the roller skate, 
 194
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 Signor Tomato remarked, jerking his thumb 
 toward the headless Jack Tar : 
 
 " To-day I am feel lik-a him no head, 
 no northeen. For God sague, me, I'm go 
 crezzy." 
 
 " Bad luck to the hoodoo, annyhow," said 
 Bridget, shaking her red fist at the mutilated 
 relic of a once noble though wooden man- 
 hood. " It's the Jonah iv a sailor y'are iver 
 since we bought ye from the Dootchman, 
 sorra the day. Phat am I at all at all, that I 
 didn't take the axe t'ye long ago ? Be the 
 powers, it's not too late yit, and I'll do it this 
 minute. Betther the day betther the deed, 
 for there's not a shtick in the house agin the 
 fire for the dinner soup." 
 
 In rough-and-tumble wrestling fashion 
 she seized the sailor, laid him low, and 
 dragged him over the curb to the roadway. 
 Then she bustled into the bank, and quickly 
 reappeared armed with a rusty axe of long 
 handle. And while Signor Tomato looked 
 on, his face a picture of rising doubt and flut- 
 tering hope, and passing women set down 
 195
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 loaded baskets from their heads to gaze in 
 voluble wonder, Bridget brought the Jack 
 Tar's long-suffering career to an ignoble end. 
 
 " Mike, Pat, Biddy ! " she cried, resting 
 on the axe when the task was finished. 
 " Come you here and carry in the wood." 
 
 She had left no part of the structure in- 
 tact save the platform and wheels. These 
 she kept for Pat to play with. " It'll do him 
 for a wagon," she reflected ; " then Mike 
 can have the shkate all to himsilf." 
 
 The banker's spirit was utterly broken, 
 else he would never have permitted without 
 verbal protest at least this outrage upon his 
 old silent partner. 
 
 " Ees-a one old friend no more," he 
 mused sadly, looking at his wife and shaking 
 his head. " I'm don' know eef-a you do 
 right." Then in his native patter he quoted 
 the Neapolitan saw : " Who breaks pays, but 
 the fragments are his." 
 
 " Glory be ! " shouted Bridget. " Sure 
 ye're betther already. It's the furst provairb 
 I'm afther havin' from yer this day. Arrah, 
 196
 
 Jack Tar's ignoble end.
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 don't bother about that owld divvil iv a 
 wooden man. No friend iv the family was 
 he, Dominick dear, and it's mesilf that knows 
 it. Not a sup iv good luck had we from him 
 in the five year he stood forninst the dure. 
 Wisht now, lave us look for betther toimes 
 now that his bones bes blazin' under the 
 black pot." 
 
 Scarcely had she finished speaking when 
 the postman stepped up and put a letter in 
 Signor Tomato's hand a message that her- 
 alded an instant change of fortunes. The 
 banker's eyes bulged and he grew more and 
 more excited as he read. " Phat is it, anny- 
 how ? " asked Bridget, but he was too ab- 
 sorbed to answer. Not till he had come to 
 the end did he tell her the contents. The 
 letter bore the postmark of Jamaica, Long 
 Island, and was dated two days after Bertino's 
 flight and a week before the day set for the 
 wedding of Juno and Signor Di Bello : 
 
 EMINENT SIGNOR TOMATO : You re- 
 member what I told you touching the bust 
 197
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 of the Presidentessa. Well, it is still in 
 Dogana [customhouse]. I send another 
 letter in this, the letter of my friend the 
 sculptor. Oh, I am so sorry! On his letter 
 I have written that they shall give it to you. 
 This will make them give it to you if you 
 want it. I can not pay the tax, and my 
 friend must not wait so long for nothing, 
 because I think it will be a long time before 
 I shall take it, and I have so much trouble, 
 such grand disturbances. He is as fine a 
 sculptor as any in Italy, my word of honour. 
 Now, you take the bust from Dogana and 
 you make money with it, to become his agent 
 in America, like I intended. You do right 
 by my friend and you will not lose. He 
 will make more busts and you can sell them. 
 He is Armando Corrini, of Cardinali, prov- 
 ince of Genoa. If you do not reclaim the 
 bust from Dogana, write it to him, be- 
 cause I will not write again to you, and 
 neither you nor any one else will know 
 
 where I am. 
 
 BERTINO MANCOXI. 
 
 198
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 " Bravissimo ! " cried Signor Tomato, 
 the grand possibilities of the writer's sugges- 
 tion unfolding before his mind. " My dear 
 wife, I'm blief you right for chop-a de Jack- 
 a Tar. You know de proverbio: When 
 ees-a cast out de devil ees-a come down de 
 angelo." 
 
 "And where's the angel, I dunno?" 
 asked Bridget. 
 
 " Ah, you no see northeen. Ees here, in 
 de lettera. Angel ees-a Bertino Manconi. 
 He send-a good news." 
 
 " Ho-ho ! The laddybuck that putt the 
 knife in his uncle. Sure it's the furst toime 
 iver I knew angels carried stilettos." 
 
 "Wha' differenza dat mague?" Fired 
 with a new purpose, the banker was himself 
 again, and spoke with spirit. " Maybe he 
 goin' know wha' he's about. For me dat 
 ees-a northeen. Ees-a de statua de Presi- 
 dentessa I'm tink about. You know wha' 
 dat ees ? Guess-a not. Well, I'm tell-a you. 
 Ees-a var fine, I'm know. Dees-a Bertino 
 he ees-a been show me de lettera from de 
 199
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Dogana. It say he moost-a pay one hoon- 
 dred and forty dollar. Ah, moost-a be 
 sometheen stupendo. Tink I'm goin' mague 
 moocha mun by dees-a statua, and de next-a 
 one he mague ees de King of Tammany 
 Hall. How moocha you tink I'm sell-a 
 him ? Ah ! fine, fine ! De Presidentessa, 
 maybe I'm sell-a her to de Presidente. 
 Who know ? Guess-a Signor Tomato he 
 ees-a rich-a mahn, he sell-a so many statua 
 to de grandi signori of America." 
 
 The more his eager fancy played about 
 the bust the bigger grew the fortune to 
 which it seemed the stepping stone. From 
 its siren lips there flowed a far-off subtile 
 song, which bade him do and dare, go forth 
 and possess, and by that token end his long 
 night of poverty in a glorious dawn of riches. 
 And with gaining allure came the oft-sung 
 refrain: "The devil cast out, an angel de- 
 scends ; the devil cast out, an angel descends." 
 Surely it was a fulfilment of that fine proverb, 
 so wise with the wisdom of Naples's centu- 
 ries. No eye could see, no ear catch, a plainer 
 200
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 truth. The Jack Tar, devil of bad luck, not 
 only cast out, but, grace to the strong arm 
 and inspired axe of Bridget, dead for ever- 
 more. And the bust was the descending 
 angel. Yes ; he would obey the voice of 
 Heaven's courier and take the Presidentessa 
 from the customhouse, though it asked every 
 soldo in the window. La Presidentessa! 
 The First Lady of the Land ? Dio magnifi- 
 co ! And to him, Domenico Tomato, Had 
 fallen the matchless honour of presenting 
 this great work of art to the American 
 people ! Not an hour must be lost. To the 
 Dogana at once and release the angel of 
 wealth. 
 
 Bridget had the best of reasons for lack- 
 ing faith in her husband's business projects, 
 so she set her face and tongue stoutly against 
 this proposed adventure into the field of fine 
 art. To her bread-and-butter view it meant 
 a leap into starvation. She knew he could 
 not meet the customs demand of a hundred 
 and forty dollars save by paying out every 
 piece of money that was on exhibition in the 
 14 20 1
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 window by parting with the bank's entire 
 capital. In stirring figures she pictured the 
 distress and ruin that he was going to court. 
 But to no purpose. From the outset it was 
 clear that her Hibernian substance would not 
 prevail against his Italian shadow. Even 
 while she begged him for the sake of the 
 ' childer " to desist, he went about gathering 
 up the money. He untied the sham pack- 
 ages, and from the top of each picked off the 
 one real bank note and threw the sheaf of 
 blank slips under the little counter. Then 
 into a chamois bag he swept the large heaps 
 of coppers, the small heap of silver, and the 
 very few gold coins that were in the collec- 
 tion. "Who nothing dares, nothing does," 
 he quoted grandly, as he pocketed the 
 money, and made for the door. 
 
 "The howly Patrick forgive ye," said 
 Bridget, following him to the street. " Ivry 
 cint betune yer family and the wolf ! 
 Worra, worra, Dominick Tomah-toe, ye'll 
 rue this day whin they're singin' at yer 
 
 wake." 
 
 202
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 " Oh, ees-a better you goin' shut up," re- 
 turned the banker, in a tone meant to be 
 gentle and reassuring. " Ees-a whad for you 
 mague so moocha troub ? I'm tell-a you 
 ees-a better you goin' shut up. Why ? 
 'Cause you not understand de beautiful art-a. 
 Good-a by, my dear wife. When I'm com-a 
 back I'm show you sometheen var fine." 
 
 He went to a rival banker and turned all 
 his Italian money into American. Then he 
 borrowed a push-cart and worked his way at 
 great peril among the trucks and cable cars 
 to the seat of customs. It took all day to 
 unwind the red tape that bound the bust, 
 and the clerks counted it a capital joke to 
 watch the half-frantic little Italian tearing 
 from one window to another in search of the 
 proper authority. Darkness had fallen when, 
 with the big case on his cart, he pushed into 
 Mulberry and stopped before the broken 
 bank. At the door sat Bridget with her 
 knitting, and Pat, Mike, and Biddy were 
 romping on the sidewalk. 
 
 " Ees-a var heavy de Presidentessa," he 
 203
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 said, tapping the box. Bridget sprang up 
 and lent him the aid of her sinewy arms. 
 Full of wonder, the children followed them 
 with their burden into the bank. With a 
 finger on his lip, Signor Tomato turned the 
 key in the lock and covered the window so 
 that outsiders might not look in. 
 
 " Ees-a grand secret-a," he whispered ; 
 " moost-a see nobodee." 
 
 By the dim light of an oil lamp he set 
 to work with cold chisel and hammer rip- 
 ping off the lid of the case. When he had 
 lifted out the precious one, removed the 
 wrapping paper from her face, and set her 
 up on the counter, he stepped back to feast 
 his eyes. 
 
 In the first moment of the awful disil- 
 lusion, it seemed to Bridget that her little 
 man had lost his reason. He had seen por- 
 traits of the President's wife, and after look- 
 ing steadily a moment the desolate truth 
 darted upon his consciousness that the bust 
 was not of her. It possessed not a single 
 point of likeness. To the turn-up nose of 
 204
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 Juno the sculptor had granted no touch of 
 poetry, and it stood forth in all the cruel 
 realism of coldest marble. While the terri- 
 fied children clung to their mother's skirts, 
 Signor Tomato thrashed about the shop, 
 beating his temples with loosely closed fists 
 and crying, " Woe is me, woe is me ! " He 
 would not be comforted, nor could Bridget 
 quiet him to the degree of telling her the 
 cause of his mad goings-on until she caught 
 him by the arm and commanded that he be 
 a man and tell her his trouble. God had 
 gone back on him, he said, and the world 
 had reached its end. To-morrow there would 
 be no Domenic*) Tomato. 
 
 " Look-a, look-a ! " he cried, pointing to 
 the bust tragically. " Dat-a face ! O, for 
 God sague ! Dat ees-a not de Presiden- 
 tessa ! " 
 
 " What ! It's not the Furst Lady iv the 
 Land?" 
 
 " No, no ; ees-a de last lady, I'm tink. 
 Ees-a lost evrytheen. Misericordia ! What 
 I'm do now ?" 
 
 205
 
 Bridget thought bitterly of the proverb 
 about the angel descending when the devil 
 is out, but she had no heart just then to 
 twit her husband by a sarcastic recital of it, 
 although the tempter put the words on her 
 tongue. But she could not hold back an 
 angry thrust at Bertino, who rose now in 
 black relief as the author of their present and 
 greatest trouble. At sound of his betrayer's 
 name the banker became calm. He stood 
 silent a moment, and then, with upraised 
 fists tightly clinched, swore that Bertino's 
 blood should answer. Then he took up 
 again his wild lamentation, railing against 
 heaven and earth. He went over the whole 
 catalogue of his disasters, and closed with 
 the news to Bridget that for three months 
 not a nickel of shop rent had been paid. 
 He had staked his all on the Presidentessa, 
 and now that she had proved false they had 
 no place to lay their heads. 
 
 Bridget treated herself to a flood of 
 tears, and the children kept her company. 
 All at once Signor Tomato stopped wailing, 
 206
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 and startled her by saying resolutely that 
 they must all leave Mulberry right away, 
 that very night. His dear wife need give 
 herself no care as to their destination. 
 Enough that her loving husband, with an 
 eye on the trickster Fate, had always kept a 
 refuge in the country a place of shelter for 
 his family whereof he had never spoken. It 
 was not far. They could load their house- 
 hold stuff on the push-cart still at the door, 
 and be off under cover of the night. In the 
 sweet country perhaps their fortune would 
 change. After all, it was good to fly from 
 Mulberry, out to the free meadows, amid 
 trees and flowers, where birds sang, and one 
 could see the big gold moon hanging over 
 the fields for hours and hours. Some picture 
 of his fatherland had flashed in his vision, 
 and Bridget, catching the buoyancy of it, 
 offered a " Glory be ! " for the chain of 
 events that was to lift her out of " Ghinny- 
 town." 
 
 " Arrah," said she meditatively, " maybe 
 it was an angel, afther all." 
 207
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " Ah, yes ; who knows ? " he said in 
 Neapolitan, and she knew a proverb was 
 coming : " Chance is the anchor of hope 
 and the tree of abundance." 
 
 Their poverty brought its blessing in the 
 fact that they were able to crowd all their 
 worldly holdings not forgetting the bust 
 and Mike and Pat and Biddy into a 
 single load of the push-cart. The puzzle of 
 bestowing the children so that they might 
 be comfortable enough to sleep during the 
 long journey at hand was a teasing one. 
 But the Tomatoes were equal to it, though 
 it called out all the genius for multum in 
 parvo of which experience had made them 
 masters. What bedding they owned was 
 spread on the bottom of the cart, and the 
 furniture so stacked as to form a low arch, 
 beneath which the youngsters crept with 
 shouts of glee. A bed not made up on the 
 floor had played no part in their happy lives, 
 and this sally abroad in the darkness and 
 open air seemed a much better thing than 
 huddling in the cote back of the nankeen 
 208
 
 Failure of Banca Tomato 
 
 sail, where Bridget kept her doves at night. 
 While the parents moved back and forth, 
 carrying the remaining odds and ends and 
 finding a place for them on the cart, anxious 
 treble voices issued from the load : 
 " Mah, did yer put in the skate ?" 
 " Don't fergit der duster handle." 
 " Where's der Jack Tar wagon ? " 
 " Say, Biddy's gone ter sleep." 
 At last Domenico locked the door, and 
 with Bridget by his side at the shafts, began 
 the exodus from Mulberry, first stopping to 
 shake his fist at the scene of his downfall 
 and observe : 
 
 " I'm no dead-a yet, you bet-a ! " 
 " Dead is it ? " said Bridget, as she put 
 her strength to the crossbar. " Sure it's 
 yersilf '11 live manny a day to wink at the 
 undertaker." 
 
 It was smooth going over the asphalt of 
 Bayard and Mulberry Streets, and silently 
 the strange caravan trundled along. San 
 Patrizio tolled a late hour for that quarter 
 of early-rising toilers eleven o'clock and 
 209
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 the sidewalks, which had swarmed with 
 buzzing life earlier in the night, now gave 
 back the echo of but a few heavy footfalls. 
 From Paradise Park the wooing children of 
 Italy had departed to their homes, leaving 
 the benches to all-night lodgers of other 
 climes. Passing the CarTe Good Appetite, 
 the Tomatoes were startled by a mighty 
 chorus of " bravoes " and " vivas," followed 
 by the clink of wineglasses. It was Signor 
 Di Bello and his boon comrades. The mer- 
 chant had just announced his betrothal and 
 coming marriage to Juno. 
 
 210
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE LAST LADY UNMASKED 
 
 DAWN began to show the shapes of 
 things an hour after the Tomato outfit had 
 left the environs of Jamaica and struck into a 
 gravel-strewn byway that followed the Long 
 Island Railroad. All night the banker and 
 his faithful helpmeet had pushed the cart 
 through a country sparsely settled in places, 
 but always with a good road under the 
 wheels. Now they had reached the last 
 stage of their journey, and the little passen- 
 gers, who had fallen asleep on the ferryboat 
 crossing the East River, began to open their 
 eyes. Mike was first to crawl out from 
 under the furniture, and Pat and Biddy ap- 
 peared soon afterward. They were allowed 
 to get down and stretch their legs, which 
 211
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 they did by frisking ahead of the cart and 
 dancing for pure joy at finding themselves 
 in a new and beautiful world. Never before 
 had they seen a piece of Nature larger than 
 the lawn of Paradise. In the delight and 
 wonder of beholding the gloried east they 
 almost forgot to be hungry, but did not, 
 and presently set up a cry for breakfast. 
 Bridget told them they would have to wait 
 until the villa was reached, which would be 
 in a little while, her husband said. Their 
 route now lay directly over the pipe line of 
 the Brooklyn aqueduct, the manhole caps 
 of which projected from the ground at inter- 
 vals of a hundred yards. To the north and 
 east stretched a level countryside, covered 
 in spots with oaks of scrubby growth. 
 From the low thicket a quail now and then 
 blew his shrill whistle, to the deep bewilder- 
 ment of the gamins of Mulberry. They 
 would scamper after the mystery and thrash 
 the bushes for it, only to hear the piercing 
 note elsewhere, when the bird had flown 
 
 away. 
 
 212
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 At last Signer Tomato, who had been 
 peering anxiously into the distance, pointed 
 ahead and exclaimed : 
 
 " Be praised de Madonna ! Ees-a dere ! 
 ees-a dere ! Now ees-a all right evrytheen." 
 
 "Phat's there?" 
 
 " De villa Tomato. Ees-a var fine. You 
 not see ? " 
 
 " Upon me sowl I see nothin' but two 
 big black things that do look like whales." 
 
 Domenico put on a grin and said : 
 
 " Ah, my dear wife, moosta tell you de 
 trut honesta. I'm been mague lill fun. 
 Deesa villa she no ees-a joosta der same lika 
 de housa. Ees-a not mague of wood ; but 
 you wait-a, some time I'm show you how 
 ees-a nice and cool-a de iron when ees-a 
 cover wit leaves. Pietro Sardoni he been 
 liv-a here, and he lik-a var mooch, I'm blief." 
 
 " Phat d'yer mane at all at all ? Is it 
 not a house ye're takin' us to, thin ? What 
 is it, annyway ? Howly wafer ! Pipes ! " 
 
 They had drawn near enough for her to 
 distinguish two black iron pipes of the 
 213
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 largest size used for underground conduits. 
 Though they seemed much smaller from 
 that distance, each was twelve feet long with 
 an interior diameter of five feet. They lay 
 side by side, as they had been left by the 
 builders of the aqueduct. 
 
 " Moosha, moosha," she went on, but not 
 relaxing her effort at the shafts, " it's far 
 down in the worruld y'are now, Bridget 
 O' Kelly, and yer father's own third cousin 
 coachman to the Lord Mayor iv Dublin ! " 
 
 " My dear wife, moosta forgive your 
 husband ; ees-a got northeen better. De 
 proverbio he say : One who is contented 
 has enough." 
 
 The strip of green that crowned the mar- 
 gin of the railroad cut was spangled with 
 bright yellow, and, his eye lighting on it, 
 Signer Tomato said, by way of a comforting 
 crumb to Bridget : 
 
 " Look ! Guess-awe goin' mague plenta 
 mon here pickin' dandelion salad." 
 
 One of the youngsters had heard the 
 talk about the pipes, and, telling the others, 
 214
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 all three ran ahead to investigate. After a 
 peep into one of the huge tubes they came 
 trooping back in a state of fright. 
 
 " Somebody in our pipe, pah ! " said Mike. 
 
 " A big man ; guess he's dead," from Pat. 
 
 It had never struck Domenico's fancy 
 that the water pipes whereon he had counted 
 for a final refuge might become a chateau 
 in Spain because of some rival claimant to 
 their shelter. 
 
 " Gran Dio ! More trouble ! " he whined, 
 and bundled through the grass to see for 
 himself, while Bridget trudged on with the 
 cart, the children close at her heels. Stoop- 
 ing, he peered into one of the pipes, rose 
 again quickly, threw up his arms, brandished 
 his open hands, bent again, and put his 
 head into the mouth of the iron cavern. 
 Then he sprang up and shrieked : 
 
 " It is he ! By the blood of St. Janua- 
 rius, his blood shall pay ! " 
 
 From the deep pocket of his threadbare 
 coat he drew a heavy-bladed clasp knife, 
 jerked it open, and the next instant would 
 215
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 have tried its steel on the awakened figure 
 in the pipe but for Bridget, who caught 
 both his arms from behind and pinioned 
 them in able style. 
 
 " Is it bloody murther yer'd be addin' to 
 all the rest, Dominick Tomah-toe," said 
 she, tightening her grip, while the little 
 man struggled and profaned the canonized 
 host. " Phat the divil's the manin' iv it, 
 annyhow ? " 
 
 "Let-ago! You hear? Let-a go, I'm 
 tell-a you ! Look in de pipa and you see 
 ees-a what for. Guess-a you goin' want kill 
 too." 
 
 At this point a well-thatched head stuck 
 out of the pipe, and the drowsy eyes of a 
 man on his knees looked up wonderingly at 
 the group of Tomatoes. It was the face of 
 Bertino Manconi. 
 
 " Ah-ha ! Now you see what for I'm 
 go kill. Let-a go, I'm tell-a you ! " 
 
 " Aisy now, me darlint. No, no ; I'll 
 not lave you go yit awhile ; not till that 
 ghinny fire in ye has burnt out a bit. Will 
 216
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 ye give me the knife ? Here, lave go iv it 
 there y'are. Now ye can use yer fists in 
 Donnybrook shtyle, and not a worrud from 
 Bridget O'Kelly." 
 
 She had captured the knife. Bertino 
 was on his feet. Tomato moved toward him 
 with claws outspread. 
 
 " See what you have done," he snarled in 
 the Naples patter. " Famous joke, neh f 
 To rob a poor man of his last cent, that you 
 might have a bust of your amorosa some 
 good-for-naught of a woman ! A-h-h ! A 
 famous joke ! But you shall pay. Oh, 
 woman, give me that knife." 
 
 " Phat ails yer fists ? " 
 
 " You are a fool," broke out Bertino, 
 and the banker jumped at him, but did not 
 strike. " A fool, I say. You talk much 
 and say nothing. What is it about the 
 bust ? Tell me. Can't you see I am hungry 
 to know ? What has become of it ? Is it a 
 fine likeness of the Presidentessa ? " 
 
 " Presidentessa ! " sneered the banker, and 
 Bridget echoed the word in like contempt. 
 15 217
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " Yes. Beautiful, neh ? " 
 
 The banker waved the back of his hand 
 beneath his chin in token that he was not 
 to be fooled. " You are a great inno- 
 cent. Yes ; but you can't play off on me. 
 You know it is not the First Lady of the 
 Land." 
 
 '" Not the Presidentessa ? " 
 
 " No, you thief ! " 
 
 " For the love of the bright Saints, who 
 is it?" 
 
 " Bah ! You know." 
 
 " I swear I do not. It was a picture of 
 the Presidentessa that I sent to the sculptor. 
 Maria ! Has Armando made the wrong 
 woman ? Where is it ? " 
 
 " Here." 
 
 In a jiffy the furniture atop of it was 
 removed and the boxed marble set on the 
 ground. When the paper had been torn off 
 and the face of Juno stood revealed in the 
 morning's first flush Bertino was on hands 
 and knees before it. 
 
 " Holy Madonna of Grace ! " he shrieked, 
 218
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 and got up covering his eyes and turning 
 away. " It is too much, too much ! " 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Bridget and Domen- 
 ico in concert. 
 
 " My wife ! " 
 
 " Arrah, now I know the mug iv it ! " 
 cried Bridget in triumph. " Sure that pug 
 nose has been dancin' in me brain like a 
 nightmare since iver I seen it in the bank. 
 She's noane other than the singer I seen in 
 the Gaffe of the Bella Siciliana the day ye 
 was writin' at the table. Do ye moind ? " 
 
 She spoke in Signor Tomato's jargon, 
 tinctured freely with dashes of her mother 
 brogue. 
 
 " Yes," Bertino answered ; " it was on 
 that day she promised to be my wife, and 
 that day I wrote the letter to Armando and 
 put in a picture of the First Lady." 
 
 " Be the same token, ye did nothin' iv 
 the koind, for it's mesilf that remimbers see- 
 in' her take out that pictoor when ye ran to 
 the dure at her biddin', and putt another wan 
 in its place. Then it was she putt in her 
 219
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 own ugly mug and ruined the hull iv us. 
 Sure anny blind man can see it now wid half 
 an eye. Worra, worra, why didn't I know 
 what it mint at the toime ! " 
 
 " I will kill her," Bertino said in a low 
 voice, and Signer Tomato dropped wearily 
 on the ground. It was the moment for a 
 soul-thrilling proverb, but the apt one would 
 not come, and he eased his feelings with the 
 poor makeshift, "He who goes slow goes 
 safe " (Chi va piano va sano). 
 
 No impolite questions were put to Ber- 
 tino concerning the affair that had necessi- 
 tated his sudden exit from Mulberry, nor did 
 Bertino give any hint of his belief, inspired 
 by Juno's ruse, that Signor Di Bello had 
 been laid low. Had not the ethics of Mul- 
 berry rendered the knife-play and the names 
 of all concerned a forbidden subject, they 
 could have told him that his uncle was up 
 and about and cracking walnuts in his usual 
 form. But the vendetta is sacred, and 
 Bridget, itching as she was to discuss the 
 murderous attempt, was too much Italian- 
 220
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 ized to venture upon that hallowed ground. 
 Aided by their knowledge of Signor Di 
 Bello's admiration for Juno, however, the 
 Tomatoes were easily able to understand 
 why Bertino had risen to the assertion of 
 a husband's rights under the law of the 
 stiletto. 
 
 When Bertino told them he had slept in 
 the pipe every night since his hasty depar- 
 ture from the city, the banker, with an ex- 
 pansive grace that atoned handsomely for 
 the insult of attempting to slay him, begged 
 him to remain a guest at Villa Tomato. 
 They were not quite settled in their summer 
 home, to be sure, but in a few minutes they 
 would be prepared to serve breakfast. The 
 formality ended here, for one and all they 
 fell to the task of putting their house in or- 
 der. First the clamour of Mike, Pat, and 
 Biddy was silenced by issuing to each a large 
 chunk of coarse bread, with the command 
 that they go at once and gather dry twigs 
 for firewood. The urchins returned quickly 
 with the stock of bread greatly diminished, 
 221
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 but the store of firewood not much in- 
 creased. Meantime Signor Tomato and 
 Bertino had set up the stove, and fitted a 
 sheet-iron chimney to the end of the pipe 
 that was to serve as kitchen and parlour. 
 Bridget soon had a fire crackling, though it 
 tried her back somewhat stooping as she 
 moved from the parlour door to the kitch- 
 en. But she did not grumble. Her heart 
 warmed with womanly response to the bless- 
 ing of a home, lowly as it was, and she 
 stirred inside and out of the pipe with a 
 jollity of temper that bespoke the halcyon 
 days of the babies. 
 
 The Last Lady, as they now called the 
 wicked bust, had swallowed all but a dollar 
 or two of the bank's capital, but for what re- 
 mained to give them a new start Bridget was 
 full of thanksgiving. She had rationed the 
 outfit with a small supply of codfish, with 
 which to make the indispensable Neapolitan 
 baccala ; a generous measure of the cheap 
 but enduring lupine beans, some bacon, red 
 onions, and a half dozen loaves of second- 
 
 222
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 hand bread. So well had she managed the 
 finances that a balance of forty-seven cents 
 was left in the treasury. Soon after the blue 
 smoke began writhing from the chimney she 
 had a pot of soup on the stove, and hungrily 
 Domenico and Bertino busied themselves 
 in the current of its gustful odour. They 
 brought leafy boughs from the scrub oaks 
 and fashioned them thickly atop and beside 
 both wings of the iron villa to shield it from 
 the sun's fire. They made it look like a 
 mound of the plain grown with tangled 
 greenery and pierced by two grottoes straight 
 and smooth as arrow shafts. Of the pipe 
 not used as a kitchen they devised a dormi- 
 tory, and placed therein the Last Lady, first 
 swathing her tenderly in paper and putting 
 her back in the casing of pine wood. For 
 doors the nankeen sail was made to serve a 
 new turn, but not without a throe of sorrow 
 did the banker cut it in parts and fasten 
 them to the ends of the pipes. 
 
 The first meal cooked in the villa scullery 
 was a triumph for Bridget's art. Never in 
 223
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 all her Mulberry days had she produced a 
 better minestrone. Bertino was asked to a 
 seat at the table, which consisted of a piece 
 of oilcloth spread on the ground. While 
 they sat like tailors in a circle spooning their 
 thick soup from tin plates and munching 
 the secondhand bread, a bobolink and his 
 wife, drawn by the human habitation, dashed 
 above them, weighing the question of be- 
 coming neighbours : 
 
 "... Now they rise and now they fly ; 
 They cross and turn, and in and out, and down the middle 
 
 and wheel about, 
 With a 'phew, shew, Wodolincon ; listen to me, Bobolin- 
 
 con ! " 
 
 At length they dropped in the high 
 grass not many yards away, and began lay- 
 ing the foundation for their house, un- 
 daunted by the trio of natural nest burglars 
 whose wondering eyes and ears had taken 
 them in. But Mike, Pat, and Biddy never 
 discovered the pale-blue egg that soon lay 
 there ; and in the days that followed, when 
 the other Tomatoes and Bertino were afield 
 gathering dandelion leaves, and Bridget sat 
 224
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 with her knitting at the kitchen door, the 
 rollicking song of these trustful neighbours 
 was often the only sound that enlivened the 
 desolate moor. 
 
 When Saturday morning came, and the 
 push-cart was heaped high with the esculent 
 herbs, Signor Tomato said to Bridget : 
 
 " Guess ees-a better I'm goin' to de cit 
 for sell-a de salata. See how moocha ! 
 Moosta have tree dollar for dat." 
 
 " Sure," said Bridget, and away he 
 started with their first load of produce for 
 market. Bertino helped him push as far as 
 Jamaica ; then he went to the post office to 
 inquire for the letter that Juno had prom- 
 ised to write telling him the result of his 
 uncle's wound. There was no letter for 
 him. He had made up his mind to get 
 away from America somehow should the 
 death of Signor Di Bello make him a mur- 
 derer, but he thirsted for an accounting with 
 Juno in the matter of the bust. His wife 
 had deceived him, and the canons of vendetta 
 left him only one course. At the same time 
 225
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 he saw that he was in Juno's power, and for 
 the present must do naught to fan her wrath. 
 She knew his hiding place, and could deliver 
 him to the man-hunters of the Central Of- 
 fice. What a simpleton he had been to tell 
 her ! Had his heart not warned him all 
 along that she did not love him ? Well, he 
 was blind no more. He would wait, and if 
 his uncle died, Australia or any other land 
 would do for a refuge, but he would not 
 quit America until he had collected from 
 Juno the debt she owed him and the poor 
 sculptor whom her treachery would be sure 
 to send to a madhouse. 
 
 As he trudged back to the pipes it oc- 
 curred to him that there would be fine lyric 
 justice in a measure of vitriol well thrown 
 at the face that poor Armando's marble so 
 faithfully depicted. But to this form of 
 payment he quickly said no ; smooth, lean 
 steel, tried and true, was the best friend of 
 the vendetta. 
 
 When Signer Tomato reached Mulberry 
 the day was spent, and the market minstrels 
 226
 
 The Last Lady Unmasked 
 
 had begun their songs. It was no easy 
 work for him to find a place at the curb- 
 stone wherein he could squeeze and join 
 the long line of Saturday - night venders 
 who filled the air with their ditties. In the 
 weary solitude of his journey from Jamaica 
 he had had ample time to plagiarize an an- 
 cient market couplet, so that when he began 
 to offer his wares he was able to do so in the 
 manner of a veteran : 
 
 " Dandelion, tra-la-la, dandelion, tra-la-lee ; 
 Buy him and eat him, and lusty you'll be ! " 
 
 The people marvelled at beholding the 
 banker in his new role, but they bought of 
 his stock, and the first venture of Villa To- 
 mato in the world of commerce was a re- 
 splendent success. 
 
 227
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE FALCON SAVES THE DOVE 
 
 " MARIANNA ! " 
 
 It was the austere voice of Carolina, and 
 a love scene behind the second-cabin smok- 
 ing room came to an abrupt close. Though 
 it was not the first stolen meeting with Ar- 
 mando that she had broken up during the 
 voyage, Carolina had never told the girl that 
 she must shun other suitors because of a 
 husband already chosen for her in New 
 York. Profiting by her experience as a 
 meddler in the love affairs of others, she 
 had deemed best to conceal her matrimonial 
 plans for Casa Di Bello until it should be 
 too late for Marianna to defy her wishes. 
 Not until the final day of the passage, there- 
 fore, did she let out the cat. Then she pic- 
 228
 
 The Falcon Saves the Dove 
 
 tured to the girl the splendid future pre- 
 pared for her as the wife of Signer Di Bello, 
 the merchant prince of Mulberry. 
 
 " But I am promised to Armando," said 
 Marianna. " How can I marry any one 
 else ? " 
 
 " Bah ! A poor devil whom you would 
 have to feed. You will never see him again. 
 In America he will soon forget you and find 
 another amoroso,. With my brother for a 
 husband you will be a signora as fine a 
 lady as any in America. We have many 
 pigs in Mulberry. With this good-for- 
 naught sculptor you would soon be one of 
 them." 
 
 " He is as good as any one else even 
 your brother. Anyhow, I love him." 
 
 The hour had come for Carolina to as- 
 sert her power. " Love him ! " she snapped. 
 " What if you do ? Will love put meat in 
 your soup ? You are matta [crazy]. Per- 
 haps I shall find a way to give you reason. 
 Do you think you would like to be home- 
 less in that ? " 
 
 229
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 The ship was nearing the Battery, and 
 Carolina pointed toward the New York 
 shore. With deep satisfaction she perceived 
 that the girl's spirit quailed before the awful 
 vastness of the city. Presently Mariarma 
 caugHt sight of Armando coming from the 
 companion way with his poor little valise, 
 which she knew contained all his worldly 
 goods. What if she defied her aunt, and 
 cast her fortunes at once with him ? No. 
 She could not add to his burden. But need 
 she do so ? Could she not rather be a help ? 
 Toil had been ever her lot. She could not 
 remember when she had not worked away 
 her days until, until Aunt Carolina had 
 taken her up, had provided her with fine 
 clothes, and made her live like a signora. 
 No matter ; she would rather be poor and 
 work for Armando. But New York ! 
 That great monster crouching there in its 
 Sunday nap, and sending lazy curls of 
 steaming breath from its thousands of 
 snouts ! It was that they would have to 
 dare to fight that ! 
 
 230
 
 The Falcon Saves the Dove 
 
 " You are a ninny to stand there in doubt 
 to think of doing anything but what I 
 say," Carolina went on. " See the clothes 
 I have bought you. Do you know what I 
 paid in Genova for that dress, that hat, those 
 shoes ? Well, I paid sixty lire, not counting 
 the buttons and lining. But what can one 
 expect from a silly girl ? I buy you fine 
 clothes, I bring you to America in seoond 
 class like a signora. I offer you a signore 
 for a husband, with a beautiful house to live 
 in. But you, the goose, say you like better 
 to dress in rags, to have a beggar for a hus- 
 band, to starve, to live in the streets ; for 
 into the streets you go, remember, if you 
 continue to play the fool." 
 
 Carolina was no stranger to the lotus 
 that gives languor of conscience toward 
 means when the end cries for attainment. 
 Moreover, her present mood was bordering 
 desperation. The mishap that laid her low 
 for so many months had worn off her veneer 
 of placidity, and she returned to America 
 much the same galvanic Italian that she was 
 231
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 the day she first set foot in Castle Garden 
 the Carolina of pre-churchly days, who flared 
 up and left her brother's roof after a quarrel 
 over watermelons, and put herself under 
 holy orders. Unluckily for her peace of 
 mind, while she lay a prisoner in the moun- 
 tains waiting for broken bones to knit, she 
 had received advices regularly concerning 
 affairs at Casa Di Bello especially affairs 
 matrimonial. The letters were in the fine 
 hand of the public writer of Mulberry, 
 but the message they bore came from Caro- 
 lina's faithful ally, Angelica. In her zeal to 
 serve, the cook only added wormwood to 
 her mistress's cup of gall, for her missives 
 always told darkly of some would-be wife 
 threatening the castle. The last letter had 
 spoken with maddening vagueness of a crisis 
 surely at hand, and Carolina's instinct told 
 her that the crisis was Juno. For this rea- 
 son she had sailed a week before the day 
 given her brother as the one of her intended 
 departure. How could she remain supine in 
 Genoa when Casa Di Bello stood menaced 
 232
 
 The Falcon Saves the Dove 
 
 with an invasion that meant ruin to her 
 fond designs ? With Juno driven back, 
 Carolina saw the battle won, for she had no 
 doubt at all of her power to mould the will 
 of a lovelorn maid. She was guilefully con- 
 fident that there would arise no balk to her 
 plans through Marianna's refusal to be 
 wived by Di Bello, for, with a subtilty deep 
 set in her nature, she had counted from the 
 outset, other arguments failing, that she 
 should persuade the damsel in the end by 
 the homely device of threatening to turn 
 her adrift. Wherefore, having begun the 
 assault, and observing that this line of tac- 
 tics had melted Marianna to a thoughtful 
 silence, she followed it up while they crossed 
 the ferry from Hoboken, seated in a cab, 
 their luggage on top. As they rolled over 
 the cobbles of the lower East Side and the 
 warm breath of May entered the window, 
 Carolina gave her picture of a girl homeless 
 and starving in the big city many a convinc- 
 ing touch. At Broadway, chance came to 
 her aid with an object lesson. There was a 
 '6 233
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 cable-car blockade, and while the cab waited, 
 a haggard woman, young but aged by vice 
 and want, put her open hand into the win- 
 dow. Carolina drove her away with an 
 angry word and a contemptuous stare. 
 
 " You see how one treats beggars in 
 New York," she said to Marianna, whose 
 colour had all gone. " You would be like 
 that if I shut the door on you. Who do 
 you think would feed you if I turned you 
 out ? " 
 
 Marianna looked upon the strange faces 
 that passed by, and something she saw there 
 or the lack of something in the eyes of 
 her fellow-beings struck fresh terror to her 
 soul, and the tears came. "Oh, where is 
 Armando ? " she asked herself, sobbing. 
 Why had he left the ship without her ? It 
 was all his fault. He should have taken her 
 with him. He did not love her, and would 
 not care if she did marry Signer Di Bello. 
 If they had only stayed in Italy in the 
 mountains, where she had been so happy ! 
 She would have remained if Armando had. 
 234
 
 The Falcon Saves the Dove 
 
 She knew she would, in spite of Carolina. 
 But he, too, was a fool. All was lost 
 now their love, their happiness. But for 
 the bust he would have stayed at home, 
 perhaps yes, it was the bust ! Maledic- 
 tions upon it and the First Lady of the 
 Land! 
 
 The cab dashed under the roar of an 
 Elevated train. Carolina lay back in the 
 seat and regarded her charge complacently, 
 with drooping eyelids. As they turned into 
 Mulberry her face was a symbol of smug 
 content. She felt certain now of a manage- 
 able wife for Casa Di Bello. But the impe- 
 rious tug she gave the brass bell handle of 
 Casa Di Bello sounded the knell of her 
 vivid hopes. The door opened, and she 
 looked into the awe-struck face of Angelica. 
 With difficulty the cook found speech for 
 the terrible news : Signor Di Bello gone 
 to church to be married and to Juno the 
 Superb ! Yes, yes ; the Neapolitan pig ! 
 At that very moment they must be stand- 
 ing at the altar of San Patrizio ! Oh, the 
 235
 
 The Last; Lady of Mulberry 
 
 grand feast that awaited them ! See, there 
 was the table all laid ! Ah, such wine, such 
 fruit ! All there under the fine white cloth ! 
 Soon they would be back from the church, 
 and the house would be full of guests eating 
 and drinking, for he had invited the first 
 families of the Torinesi, Milanesi, and Ge- 
 novesi, besides many swine from the south. 
 And all for a Neapolitan pig ! Santissima 
 Vergine ! 
 
 Marianna felt that she would like to 
 throw herself at this pig's feet and kiss them 
 in the joy of her deliverance, while Carolina 
 gave play to her rage in a storm of anathema 
 against her brother and the singer. In the 
 thick of her onset all rituals of conduct 
 torn to shreds the door bell jingled tragic- 
 ally. With bated breath, Angelica turned 
 the knob, and Carolina struck a pose of dis- 
 dain in the hallway. As the door opened 
 a chorus of greetings and happy auguries 
 came from a group of men and women at 
 the threshold, all in their sprucest Sunday 
 array. They were the first lot of invited 
 236
 
 The Falcon Saves the Dove 
 
 guests, and would have swarmed in, but 
 Carolina ordered them back. 
 
 " We have come to the wedding feast," 
 they protested. " Signer Di Bello has bid- 
 den us." 
 
 " Begone, you ragabash and bobtail ! " 
 said Carolina, and she slammed the door 
 in their faces. 
 
 237
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AT THE ALTAR OF SAN PATRIZIO 
 
 NEVER did wedding barouche so gor- 
 geous roll over the asphalt of Mulberry as 
 the one in which Signor Di Bello and his 
 bride rode to church ; and never had the 
 people beheld such an illustrious couple in 
 nuptial parade. With an overdone mimicry 
 of the princesses and duchesses she had 
 watched so often driving in the Chiaja of 
 Naples, Juno sat erect and grand of mien, 
 deigning scarcely a glance to right or left. 
 Now and then she did smile with a feigned 
 grace, or bow with mock condescension in 
 response to some wild salvo of " bravoes " 
 shot as they passed by a caffe from the 
 throats of Signor Di Bello's boon comrades. 
 Nor did these salutes meet with a less digni- 
 238
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 fied return from the bridegroom. His old 
 friends wondered, and avowed that the bub- 
 bling merchant was not himself to-day. 
 And, in truth, for the first time in his life 
 the signore had put on an air of loftiness 
 and gravity. No one could say that the 
 radiant creature in purple by his side sur- 
 passed him in grandeur. Perhaps it was the 
 example of Juno, perhaps the witchery of 
 his looking-glass. An hour before, arrayed 
 in evening clothes spick and span from the 
 tailor, who had worked overtime, Signer 
 Di Bello had viewed his mirrored self with 
 much approval and delight. It was his first 
 dress suit, and the round brow, the bushy 
 hair, and the King Humbert mustache 
 showed above the broad field of shirt front 
 in bolder relief and a light that was new to 
 their owner. His facial likeness to the 
 monarch of Italy had ever been a spring of 
 secret pride, but not until to-day, when he 
 beheld himself in royal raiment, had the 
 similitude played him any mental pranks. 
 Fondly he gazed in the mirror's verge, and 
 239
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 said to himself : " Ah ! that is the head of 
 the king, and the head is on my shoulders." 
 And it was because the king had got into 
 that head so badly that Signor Di Bello 
 rode to his wedding with the stateliness of a 
 royal chief. 
 
 At length the plumed steeds turned into 
 the Sicilian quarter, and the bridal pair 
 could see the Gothic fagade of San Patri- 
 zio a block away. At this stage the march 
 lost its triumphal flavour. They had en- 
 tered the enemy's country. Here the dusky 
 women at windows breathed no auguries of 
 good fortune, and the white-shirted men on 
 the sidewalk, idling in their Sunday best, 
 had no " bravo " for the distinguished bride- 
 groom. For about half the distance the 
 Genovese and his Neapolitan were per- 
 mitted to pass in respect if not in love. 
 Doubtless this silent show of bad blood 
 would have continued unbroken till the 
 church portals were reached, but for the act 
 of a certain earringed fellow who stood on a 
 low balcony. In the long ago his eyes had 
 240
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 seen Humbert, and now he was struck so 
 hard with the resemblance borne him by the 
 man in the carriage that, in a voice ringing 
 sharp to a hundred ears, he shouted : 
 
 " Long live the king ! " (Evviva il 
 re/") 
 
 All within earshot laughed as they saw 
 the aptness of the gibe, and, while the ba- 
 rouche moved along slowly, a dozen tongues 
 by turns re-echoed the cry with derisive 
 resonance : 
 
 " Long live the king ! " 
 
 It would have been difficult to tell from 
 the faces of Juno and Signor Di Bello 
 whether they were pleased or offended. 
 
 Among the few who cried out was a 
 young man in black velveteen coat and flow- 
 ing cravat. His pallid face was serious, had 
 a puzzled look, and his " Long live the 
 king ! " did not smack of mockery. He fell 
 in beside the carriage, and kept up with it, 
 though with one hand he lugged a large 
 valise. Twice he tripped and almost fell in 
 his effort to follow without taking his eyes 
 241
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 off Juno. When the carriage stopped he 
 stood at the curbstone as though enchained, 
 fascinated by the sight of her, and stared half 
 in bewilderment as Signor Di Bello with a 
 grand, knightly grace, helped her to alight. 
 Then he ran ahead, set down his valise, and 
 stood at the church door. As they passed in, 
 his gaze still fixed upon her and his hands 
 clasped ecstatically, he exclaimed in a voice 
 that all could hear : 
 
 " O beautiful signora ! How happy I 
 am ! The marble does not lie ! " 
 
 " Soul of an ostrich ! " gasped Signor Di 
 Bello, clutching the little silver-tipped horn 
 against the evil eye which he had added to 
 his watch chain that morning. " What the 
 kangaroo does he mean ? " 
 
 Juno gave no answer. In the vestibule 
 a mincing sacristan, low of bow and smiling, 
 came forward to meet the rich merchant and 
 his bride and conduct them at once to the 
 altar. Already a frail girl in pink and a 
 hulking fellow clad in new jeans and 
 fumbling his hat were at the rail receiv- 
 242
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 ing a wedlock yoke. In the rear pews sat 
 other wedding parties, awaiting their turns 
 at the altar solemn-faced brides and listless 
 grooms, bridesmaids in gayest feather, best 
 men with red neckties, aged fathers and 
 mothers half asleep. A stream of opal light 
 from the clerestory windows fell upon these 
 waiting groups, touching their coarse faces 
 with a ghastly hue, but adding a mellow 
 beauty to their cheap finery. It was an 
 hour of silent prayer, yet none the less a 
 season when marrying and giving in mar- 
 riage is in full tide at San Patrizio. Save 
 where the mating couples and their trains 
 were assembled, every pew contained a row 
 of bowed heads that were covered with 
 shawls or gaudy kerchiefs the heads of 
 gaunt-cheeked age whose lips never ceased 
 moving in prayer, and who looked up at 
 passers-by with the eyes of a dying dog, side 
 by side with the gleaming teeth and flash- 
 ing eyes of swarthy youth. The hush was 
 broken when the priest asked the names of 
 the pairing men and women. Then his 
 243
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 voice was audible only in the foremost seats. 
 Wedding parties kept arriving. Always a 
 sacristan met them at the holy-water font, 
 and, with a monitory finger on his lips, led 
 them to a rear. pew. These were the com- 
 moners of Mulberry the toilers with hod 
 or sweat-shop needle who in funereal sober- 
 ness had come to the church on foot. They 
 could wait. But for Signer Di Bello and 
 Juno there was no delay. As they passed 
 up the aisle Juno's purple satin brushed the 
 rough-shod feet of women at prayer, pros- 
 trate on the floor. A pew had been reserved 
 for them on the gospel side. When the 
 priest caught sight of Signor Di Bello, he 
 bustled into the sacristy to put on a differ- 
 ent robe. At the same moment the man of 
 the black velveteen moved up the aisle with 
 quick, smooth step, and dropped into a pew 
 on the epistle side, well forward, from which 
 he could turn and watch Juno. Again he fas- 
 tened upon her the stare that never flinched. 
 For the first time since she had entered 
 upon her bigamous adventure she felt a 
 244
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 twinge of misgiving. Who was this fellow 
 with his big eyes always upon her ? Some 
 friend of Bertino aware that she was already 
 a wife ? The priest beckoned them before 
 him, and as they approached the velveteen 
 coat slipped into a seat nearer the com- 
 munion rail. 
 
 " What is your name ? " asked the priest 
 of the bridegroom. 
 
 " Giorgio Di Bello." 
 
 " And yours ? " of the bride. 
 
 " Juno Castagna." 
 
 " A lie ! She is the Presidentessa ! " It 
 was the staring man. His voice, loud and 
 high pitched, resounded through the church 
 and brought up every row of bowed heads. 
 As he spoke the words he arose and left the 
 pew, and stood close to the three at the 
 balustrade. " She can not be that," he 
 went on, heedless of the priest's upraised 
 hands. " She must be the Presidentessa." 
 
 Signor Di Bello seemed ready to fall 
 upon the intruder, and the sacerdotal hand 
 restrained him. Two sacristans hurried up 
 245
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 the aisle, but without danger to praying 
 women, for these were all on their feet now. 
 
 " The Presidentessa, I tell you I that 
 know so well." He pointed his ringer at 
 the bride. Juno had winced at first, but 
 now she understood it all, and knew she 
 was safe for the present. " Did I not make 
 every line of that face out of the marble ? 
 Don't believe it, father. She is the Presi- 
 dentessa. Juno ! Oh, no, no ! Child of the 
 Mother, not that ! Where is the peacock, if 
 she is Juno ?" 
 
 By this time the assistants, each holding 
 an arm, had led Armando to the sacristy, and 
 closing the door, smothered the last part of 
 his frantic outburst. The priest went on 
 with the ceremony, but every bowed head 
 in the pews had been lifted and every eye 
 and ear was now alert. 
 
 "Giorgio Di Bello, wilt thou take this 
 woman to be thy wife 
 
 " Stop ! In the name of the good God, 
 stop ! " 
 
 The words were shouted from the rear 
 246
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 of the church by Signor Tomato, who hur- 
 ried up the aisle, while the three at the altar 
 stood silent, astounded. 
 
 "That woman is already a wife," the 
 banker continued, puffing as though he had 
 had a hard run for it. "I swear it by the 
 Madonna of Mount Carmel. Her hus- 
 band is alive. Only yesterday I saw him, 
 and you know what the proverb says : 
 Once a " 
 
 " Silence ! " commanded the priest. "This 
 is no no place for oaths or proverbs." 
 
 " Bah ! " Signor Di Bello broke out 
 "The dog is crazy." 
 
 The priest eyed Juno a moment. " Well, 
 what do you say, signorina ? " 
 
 " Don't believe him, padre," she answered. 
 Then, turning to the banker: "Stupid one, 
 you do not know what you are saying. It 
 is some other woman." 
 
 The banker chuckled grimly and nodded 
 
 his head in mock concurrence. "Ah, yes; 
 
 you are right. I do not know you. It was 
 
 some other woman. Oh that it had been ! 
 
 247
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 But alas ! it was you you, the last lady, and 
 I, poor wretch, thought you the First Lady 
 the Presidentessa ! " 
 
 "The Presidentessa again?" said the 
 priest, bewildered, 
 
 " Yes, padre. So it was she tricked us 
 me and her husband. Some other woman ! 
 Anima mia! Does a man forget the face 
 that has robbed him ? In marble I first saw 
 it, and never has it left me, day or night. 
 Ah, the trouble, grand trouble it has brought 
 me ! Seven hundred liras ! All gone. But 
 you, Signor Di Bello, are rich. You will 
 pay it back. You will be grateful ; for 
 have I not saved you from this woman ? 
 She has deceived me, she has deceived her 
 husband ; but see, I do not let her deceive 
 you." 
 
 " Go away and mind your own affairs," 
 said Signor Di Bello, pushing the banker 
 aside. At the same moment the assistants 
 appeared and would have thrown the second 
 intruder into the sacristy with the first, but 
 for the priest. He made a sign for them to 
 248
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 desist ; then he ordered them to drive back 
 and out of the church the women, girls, and 
 men who were crowding before the altar. 
 When at last the doors were closed and the 
 hubbub without had become a faint mur- 
 mur, the priest said : 
 
 " You must wait for a week, Signor 
 Di Bello. Then, if I find that all is well, 
 you may come back and I will marry you." 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried the banker. 
 
 " Silence ! Come to me Tuesday with 
 the man you say is this woman's hus- 
 band." 
 
 " Si, padre," said the banker. " I shall 
 be here." 
 
 Juno took the happening more seriously 
 than Signor Di Bello did. " What matters it 
 if two crazy donkeys do wag their tongues ? " 
 he said, on the way down the aisle to the 
 door. " You are mine, and nothing else 
 matters. In a week we shall laugh at these 
 meddlers the priest as well." But Juno 
 knew that the disclosures which the signore 
 did not believe meant the collapse of her 
 17 249
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 reckless scheme. Plainly the banker and 
 Bertino had met, and the history of the 
 bust as well as the secret of their marriage 
 had come out. And they would meet again 
 before Bertino should receive her letter 
 warning him to fly from the imaginary dan- 
 ger. In a few hours her husband would 
 know that his uncle not only lived, but had 
 sought to appropriate his wife. What fire- 
 brands of vendetta / Now it was she who 
 should have to fly, else feel the temper of 
 Bertino's knife. What a blockhead she had 
 been to put off so long the writing of that 
 letter ! Had she sent it two or three days 
 ago, he would be far from New York now, 
 perhaps out of America. 
 
 When the doors opened for them to pass 
 into the street they found the church steps 
 thronged with the populace of Mulberry. 
 Word of the doings at the altar had gone 
 abroad, and the appearance of the brideless 
 groom and the groomless bride was the sig- 
 nal for a shower of jeers and derisive greet- 
 ings. But the signore mustered a bold 
 250
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 front and proved himself worthy of his 
 royal resemblance. 
 
 " We shall go to Casa Di Bello," he said 
 as they entered the carnage, " and have the 
 wedding feast just as though that noodle of 
 a priest had not refused to marry you. And 
 why not ? It will only be observing the 
 event a week in advance ; for next Sunday 
 the priest will see that these meddlers have 
 made a fool of him, and he will be glad to 
 marry you to Signor Di Bello. Now for 
 the diversions of the feast of the marriage." 
 
 He threw off the lid of a large pasteboard 
 box that the driver handed down and took 
 out a handful of candy beans of many colors, 
 the size of limas. With them he pelted the 
 people in front of the church, who put up 
 their hands for protection, and quickly 
 returned wishes of good luck, for this hail 
 of sweets always comes after the church 
 rites. The people thought they had been 
 married, after all, which was just the effect 
 that Signor Di Bello was willing his joke 
 should have. As they passed the church- 
 251
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 yard the signore shouted to a man perched 
 on the wall to let the nuptial birds go. 
 Next moment there arose three pigeons 
 with white streamers attached to their legs 
 to insure their recapture ; it is an ill omen 
 for one to gain its freedom. This was a 
 Neapolitan rite in reverence of the Madon- 
 na and the Padre Eterno which Juno had 
 asked for. 
 
 They could have turned the corner and 
 driven one block to Casa Di Bello, whose 
 dormer windows were visible over the 
 monuments of the graveyard ; but the sig- 
 nore, determined that the observance should 
 be in every respect like thajt for a genuine 
 wedding, ordered the coachman to make a 
 tour of Mulberry. Up and down they drove, 
 he showering the hard and heavy sweets and 
 receiving noisy felicitations all along the 
 way. He had dropped his regal bearing 
 and was all a-smile now. His old comrades 
 rejoiced to see that he was himself again. 
 
 " See what marriage does for one," re- 
 marked Cavalliere Bruno, the wit of Gaffe 
 252
 
 At the Altar of San Patrizio 
 
 Good Appetite. " Our comrade goes forth 
 to the altar like a king, and comes back like 
 a gentleman." 
 
 But the broad smiles vanished from the 
 signore's face when they drew near to Casa 
 Di Bello. Before the door stood a cab on 
 whose top lay a trunk of ancient pattern 
 that he knew too well. On the sidewalk, 
 gesturing madly, were the leading families of 
 the Torinesi, the Milanesi, and the Genovesi, 
 with a scant sprinkling of southern tribes. 
 They surrounded the barouche and shook 
 their fists at the occupants. A fine trick, 
 indeed ! A joke, perhaps, but not the joke 
 of a signore. Ask people to a wedding 
 feast, and then have the door slammed in 
 their faces ! 
 
 " Oh, misery is mine ! " groaned Signer 
 Di Bello, but for a reason more terrible than 
 the tumult of the barred-out guests. That 
 trunk on the cab had told him the withering 
 truth. " She is here," he whimpered, his 
 courage all gone, and cold despair leaving 
 his arms limp at his side. 
 253
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 "What is amiss?" asked Juno, and the 
 others stopped their hullabaloo. 
 
 " You must go to your lodging," he said. 
 " Coachman, drive to the Restaurant of 
 Santa Lucia. My friends, the wedding 
 feast is postponed until next Sunday." 
 
 The carriage wheeled about and dashed 
 away, leaving the first families aching with 
 mystification. 
 
 254
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 EVENTS WAIT UPON THE DANDELIONS 
 
 IN the quiet of the sacristy the priest 
 listened to the stories of Armando and the 
 banker, and gained a clear knowledge of 
 Juno's fantastic plot to secure a marble por- 
 trait and a rich husband. So true did it all 
 ring that Father Nicodemo saw no pressing 
 need to search the records of the city's 
 Bureau of Vital Statistics. He told Signer 
 Tomato it would be enough that he bring 
 the husband in evidence, and he, the priest, 
 would see to it that the woman was con- 
 fronted with him and the truth drawn from 
 her own lips. The holy man saw in their 
 timely interruption an act of Providence 
 that had saved San Patrizio from being the 
 scene of a horrid sin. But to Armando the 
 255
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 situation had nothing to offer of comfort. 
 The work of his life had come to naught. 
 The bust that was to make him a high figure 
 in the American market had been turned 
 with cruel suddenness to a bit of unvalued 
 stone. Oh, the mockery of it ! Instead of 
 the First Lady of the Land, he had given 
 his heart and hand and brain to what ? the 
 Last Lady of Mulberry ! To the sculptor's 
 plaint the banker added his, and the priest, 
 feeling for them warmly, and knowing no 
 deed that could help, offered them the ano- 
 dyne of words. Fellows in misery, they left 
 the church together, after Armando had 
 searched for and recovered the valise that he 
 had flung down, he knew not where, when 
 he followed Juno to the altar. Side by side 
 they walked through Mulberry, exchanging 
 doleful tales. They were passing before 
 Casa Di Bello, when Signor Tomato halted 
 abruptly and said : 
 
 " Behold, comrade, the root of all our 
 woe ! She wanted to get into that house. 
 Bertino has told me all. But Fate has 
 256
 
 Events Wait Upon the Dandelions 
 
 beaten her as well as us. Twixt the wish 
 and the prize high mountains arise." 
 
 They stood a moment looking up at the 
 windows, when the massive door swung 
 open, and Marianna, clearing the steps at 
 a bound, threw herself into the arms of 
 Armando, who, by the lucky chance of 
 having just set down his burdensome va- 
 lise, was ready to receive her with equal 
 fervour. 
 
 "Joy! Grand joy!" she cried. "He 
 is married, and we are saved." 
 
 " Excuse me," said the banker. " I will 
 go. Addio, my friend ; we shall meet 
 again." 
 
 Muttering a proverb, he made off for the 
 Gaffe of the Three Gardens, where he in- 
 tended to put up for the night in order 
 to be on hand for the early morning mar- 
 ket and dispose of his remaining dande- 
 lions. 
 
 " Saved ? " said Armando in mournful 
 wonder. " Glory to the Splendid Name, I 
 have found you you are left to me, my 
 257
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 precious, but all else is lost. You remember 
 my Juno and the Peacock ?" 
 
 " The hogs of Genoa had no eyes for its 
 beauty," she answered. 
 
 " Well, I have made another Juno." 
 " Dio ! What do you mean ? " 
 "The Presidentessa is a Juno." 
 They seated themselves on the top stair 
 of the stoop, and dolefully Armando went 
 over the episode at the church. In a voice 
 that took flights of passion and with gestures 
 theatric he gave again the cries of " Long live 
 the king ! " that resounded in the Sicilian 
 quarter, and re-enacted the drama at the altar. 
 Bitterly he told of his delusion that the 
 haughty woman in the carriage was the Pre- 
 sidentessa, and how the spell lasted until the 
 sacristans broke it by gripping his arms. He 
 made known to her a secret that the banker 
 had disclosed to the priest but had guarded 
 in the presence of Signor Di Bello : Juno's 
 husband was Bertino ! 
 
 So wrapped was Armando in the telling 
 and Marianna in the listening that neither 
 258
 
 Events Wait Upon the Dandelions 
 
 heard the soft footfall of Aunt Carolina, who 
 had drawn near and stood at the open door 
 drinking in the delicious narrative. When 
 he said that the priest had put off the mar- 
 riage for a week so that the banker might 
 have time to present his proofs she could 
 repress her exultation no longer. With an 
 outcry of delight she startled the young 
 people to their feet. 
 
 " Sanctified be the name of Father Nico- 
 demo, and Maria the Spotless preserve Ber- 
 tino forever ! " 
 
 Marianna and Armando stood abashed 
 because detected in the crime of being to- 
 gether on land after all Carolina's pains to 
 keep them apart on shipboard. To his 
 further confusion, she put forth her hand and 
 bade him enter the house. She would know 
 more of Signor Tomato, this man who had 
 Bertino in his keeping. Whither had he 
 removed the bust ? Where was Bertino to 
 be found ? Armando was able to answer 
 both questions ; also to recite the facts 
 about Bertino's harmless knife-play upon his 
 2 59
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 uncle's shoulder, his flight from the city, and 
 the finding of him by the banker asleep in a 
 water pipe. 
 
 While Armando's message gave Carolina 
 the elation of promised triumph, it brought 
 gloom to Marianna. Well the girl read 
 the soul of her guardian. Surely this 
 sudden revival of Carolina's spirits had but 
 one meaning a return to the scheme of 
 uniting her in marriage with Signor Di 
 Bello. But the horrid prospect did not 
 strike so much terror to her soul now, for 
 there dwelt a sweet assurance in the face of 
 Armando, who was by her side. He would 
 stand between her and this nuptial danger. 
 She felt a strength equal to a firm repulse 
 of Carolina a strength that was lacking 
 two hours before in that awful drive from 
 the steamship. 
 
 For the first time the gristly heart of 
 Carolina pulsed almost warmly for Bertino. 
 Now he stood forth in white light as the 
 blessed agent who had kept Juno out of that 
 house the knight who had slain the dragon 
 260
 
 Events Wait Upon the Dandelions 
 
 of a threatening wife by marrying her. For 
 once the truth burned into her consciousness 
 that marriage was a crowning success. Only 
 one more union that of her brother and 
 Marianna and the strife would be over, her 
 power firmly embedded. She would go to 
 Bertino at once and lend him the aid he 
 needed ; at the same time she would gratify 
 her thirst to make sure that all was as Ar- 
 mando had recounted. 
 
 " To-morrow," Armando said, " I am 
 going to Jamaica with Signor Tomato. The 
 signorina could accompany us. Then we 
 shall see poor Bertino and my poor marble." 
 
 " Perhaps it shall not prove such a poor 
 marble," she said, with a look and nodding 
 of the head that suggested some future act 
 of gratitude for the helpful service to her 
 cause which the bust had rendered. " When 
 shall you set off for Jamaica ?" 
 
 " As soon as Signor Tomato has sold out 
 his dandelions." 
 
 He promised to inform her directly that 
 urgent purpose should be accomplished and 
 261
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 attend her on the journey to Jamaica. But 
 where was Signer Di Bello ? A shuddering 
 dread showed itself in Carolina's face as she 
 asked the question, which no one could an- 
 swer. Had he gone elsewhere for a priest, 
 and would he return after all with the singer 
 and that mob of Calabriani, Siciliani, and 
 Napolitani pigs ? 
 
 At that particular moment her brother 
 was quaffing a glass of his favourite barbera 
 in the Gaffe of the Three Gardens, whither he 
 had driven to buttress his nerve after setting 
 down Juno at her lodgings. The ordeal of 
 facing Carolina and explaining matters was 
 one that he shrank from meeting without due 
 consideration and the aid of vinous fortitude. 
 
 " Courage, my angel," he had said, as he 
 handed Juno from the carriage. " On the 
 Feast of Sunday next all will be well. Father 
 Nicodemo will find that he has been the 
 plaything of idiots, and you shall go with me 
 to Casa Di Bello." 
 
 Lifting her purple skirts clear of the 
 sidewalk, and taking care that they did not 
 262
 
 Events Wait Upon the Dandelions 
 
 brush the shabby staircase, Juno climbed to 
 the door of Luigia the Garlic Woman. To 
 the astonished landlady she observed calmly : 
 
 " Signora, I shall need the room for an- 
 other week." 
 
 " But how is this ? You go to church to 
 be married, and you return without a hus- 
 band. Body of an elephant ! Brides did 
 not so in my day." 
 
 Without making reply Juno went to her 
 little dark room and, removing the wedding 
 finery, folded the dress with great care, put 
 it in the trunk, with the yellow boots on 
 top, and closed the lid. 
 
 " Maybe I shall need them, after all," she 
 told herself. 
 
 The recollection that her trump card had 
 not been played gave back her hope of yet 
 entering Casa Di Bello. 
 
 The presence of Signer Di Bello, alone 
 and long of face, at the Three Gardens 
 brought upon his head a rain of banter from 
 a dozen boon comrades. When the storm 
 of gibes and rib-tickling surmises as to the 
 263
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 cause of his wifeless state had reached its 
 height the form of the banker darkened the 
 door. Signor Di Bello jumped to his feet, 
 and, taking the middle of the smoky room, 
 brandished his finger dramatically at the new- 
 comer. 
 
 "There, signori !" he cried, bulging with 
 fury, " there is the dog that barked away my 
 bride ! A meddler, a numskull ! He comes 
 from Satan knows where with a cock-and- 
 bull tale about somebody Heaven knows 
 whom somebody who is the husband of 
 my promised bride. A simpleton of a 
 priest swallows his story like a forkful of 
 spaghetti, and, presto ! my wedding is put 
 off for a week ! By the Egg of Colum- 
 bus, a fine team of donkeys ! " 
 
 " Infame ! infame / " came from the men 
 at the tables, which resounded with the 
 blows of their horny fists. 
 
 Bridget would have been proud of her 
 
 Tomato could she have seen him at this 
 
 crucial moment. Fine was the scorn with 
 
 which he looked from face to face, and, 
 
 264
 
 Events Wait Upon the Dandelions 
 
 smiling in imperial contempt of the whole 
 company, dropped into a chair. 
 
 " There is a proverb, signori," he said, 
 " which comes to me at this moment : 
 Some men heave a sigh when the sun 
 shows his eye." 
 
 " Bah ! " roared Signor Di Bello. " Did 
 I not tell you, my friends, that his head is 
 filled wi|h polenta f " (corn-meal mush.) 
 
 " And yours has not even polenta in it ! " 
 retorted the banker, rising and clapping his 
 hands close to Signor Di Bello's face. " If 
 it were not empty, do you know what you 
 would do ? You would thank me for what 
 I have done to-day. Would you have me 
 tell the name of this husband whom nobody 
 knows, who comes from Satan knows where ? 
 Would you?" 
 
 " The name ! The name ! " from Signor 
 Di Bello and the others. 
 
 " Well, his name is Bertino Manconi. 
 Do you know him ? No ? I will tell you : 
 he is your nephew. He comes from Genoa. 
 Do you know where that is ? He once put 
 
 18 265
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 a knife into your shoulder because he caught 
 you playing the fool with his wife. Do you 
 remember that ? " 
 
 "Where is Bertino?" asked Signer Di 
 Bello, his voice grave and husky, every 
 other tongue in the room silenced. 
 
 " At my villa in the country. To-mor- 
 row you shall see him if you come with me." 
 
 " I will go with you." 
 
 " Very good. When my dandelions are 
 sold out I shall be at your disposal." 
 
 It was long past the dinner hour when 
 Aunt Carolina heard the sound of her 
 brother's latch-key in the lock. She was 
 in the hall when he entered. He did not 
 feign surprise at seeing her. They em- 
 braced, and kissed each other on both 
 cheeks. 
 
 " You are home a week before I expected 
 you," he said. 
 
 " Yes ; I could not leave you alone any 
 longer. Ah ! my dear brother, San Giorgio 
 has watched over us this day." 
 
 " Why ? " he asked, though aware that 
 266
 
 Events Wait Upon the Dandelions 
 
 she, like all Mulberry, knew of his disap- 
 pointment, and meant his deliverance from 
 Juno. 
 
 Carolina answered, pointing to the un- 
 touched wedding feast : " We have many 
 sweets that will not keep. They will be of 
 use to Father Nicodemo for his poor." 
 
 She could not resist sounding a stealthy 
 note of triumph. A few hours before he 
 would have answered, "The sweets will keep 
 a week, and then I shall need them for my 
 wedding feast." But since the bout with 
 Tomato his hope had waned steadily, just 
 as the conviction had grown stronger that 
 the banker's case against Juno would be 
 proved. Morose of spirit he sought his bed, 
 sighing as he reflected how ruthlessly the 
 events of the day had shattered his long- 
 fondled dreams. 
 
 267
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A HOUSE DIVIDED 
 
 A TRAIN for Jamaica next morning car- 
 ried four anxious souls from Mulberry. In 
 one car were Signori Di Bello and Tomato, 
 in another Carolina and Armando. The 
 banker had agreed to meet Armando at the 
 country station ; but the sculptor had given 
 no hint that he would have Carolina in com- 
 pany, nor did either of the latter dream of 
 finding Signor Di Bello with the banker. 
 They all met on the station platform. At 
 sight of Carolina her brother divined her 
 state of mind. He knew that her presence 
 meant the first advance of a revived era of 
 meddling in his love affairs, and with the per- 
 versity of the ripe-aged swain he resented it 
 as stoutly as though his own judgment about 
 268
 
 A House Divided 
 
 woman had not just been caught soundly 
 napping. 
 
 " You have come to see the husband of 
 your brother's bride, I suppose," he said. 
 " You are glad to be near to see me made a 
 fool of, nek ? " 
 
 11 No," she answered ; " I seek only the 
 proofs that Casa Di Bello is not to be dis- 
 graced." 
 
 They climbed into a creaky, swaying 
 stage that the banker hired to convey them 
 to the iron villa. 
 
 " It was you that said she was the Presi- 
 dentessa," broke out the signore, eying Ar- 
 mando on the opposite seat. " What the 
 porcupine did you mean ? " 
 
 As the decrepit stage squeaked through 
 the village, plunging and tossing on its fee- 
 ble springs like a boat in a choppy sea, Ar- 
 mando gave the history of the Last Lady 
 the jugglery of the photographs, of which 
 the banker had told him ; his months of fruit- 
 less toil on the second Juno following a year 
 lost on the first. 
 
 269
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 "Ah, signore," he added, yielding to a 
 blank sense of desolation, " surely the evil 
 eye has fallen upon me and I am doomed 
 to fiasco." 
 
 " Body of a rhinoceros ! " was Signor Di 
 Bello's first comment. Then he added, after 
 an apparent mental struggle with the stub- 
 born truth : " Yes ; she has made grand 
 trouble for you, but you shall not suffer. I 
 will buy your Juno and the Peacock and 
 the other Juno, if only to smash it in a thou- 
 sand pieces ! " 
 
 " Will you pay me back the Dogana, 
 signore ? " put in the banker, striking the hot 
 iron. " I too have been ruined by the Last 
 Lady." 
 
 " Excuse me, signore ; you are old enough 
 to know better." 
 
 "And so are you," chirped Tomato, 
 whereat Signor Di Bello held his tongue. 
 
 They had left the village street behind 
 
 and were tottering over a rude wagon trail 
 
 that threaded the thicket of dwarf oaks on 
 
 whose margin crouched the dwelling of the 
 
 270
 
 A House Divided 
 
 Tomatoes. The site of the iron villa was 
 not far distant, and from its kitchen chimney 
 a spiral of ascending smoke showed plainly 
 in the sunlight that bathed the flat land- 
 scape. From the railroad cut the muffled 
 roar of a passing train lent a basso under- 
 tone to the squeak and clack of the voluble 
 stage. At length they struck into the road 
 that borders the railway, and the banker 
 leaned out of the vehicle and peered ahead, 
 wondering if all were well with Bridget and 
 the youngsters. As he drew nearer, the 
 deeper became a look of horror that had 
 come upon his face. 
 
 "Diavolof" he exclaimed at last. "A 
 new calamity ! " 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Half of my house is gone." 
 
 One woe-begone pipe was all that he 
 could see of the imposing double-tubed villa 
 that reclined there so proudly two days 
 before. Stripped of the foliage that had 
 shielded it and its mate from the burning 
 sun, it loomed black in ominous nakedness. 
 271
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Had further evidence of disaster been 
 needful, the countenance of Bridget would 
 have supplied it abundantly. Like a femi- 
 nine Marius, she sat amid the ruins of the 
 Tomato Carthage. Strewn about her in wild 
 disorder were the twigs of oak that had been 
 so carefully fashioned over the pipes, mingled 
 with the bedclothes and boxes that had 
 furnished the interior of the dormitory. 
 The little garden of tomato plants that had 
 been set out at the back doors bore the 
 vandal marks of hobnailed boots and was 
 slashed with the tracks of heavy wheels. 
 
 "Where's the other pipe?" shrieked 
 the banker before the stage came to a 
 stop. 
 
 " Howly shamrock, Domenico, is it yer- 
 silf ? Sure I thought they was comin' for 
 the rest iv the house. Where aire ye these 
 two days, and the worruld comin' to an ind 
 all around us ? " 
 
 " No ees-a maka differenza where I'm 
 goin' be," he said, jumping down, followed 
 by Signer Di Bello, Carolina, and Arman- 
 272
 
 A House Divided 
 
 do. " I ask-a you where ees-a de oder 
 pipa?" 
 
 " Ax the divvil and he'll tell yer bet- 
 ther, for the ground has opened and shwal- 
 leyed it." 
 
 There was a chorus of whoops at the 
 edge of the brush, and the trio of juvenile 
 Tomatoes came trooping toward their father. 
 
 " What-a kind talk you call-a dees-a?" 
 he said, glaring at Bridget and pushing away 
 the children fiercely. " I ask-a you, where 
 ees-a de pipa ? " 
 
 " And I answer that I don't knaw, Domi- 
 nick Tomah-toe ! Me and the childer was 
 away beyandt there, pickin' dandelie-yuns, 
 d'ye moind ! Be the sun, I'm thinkin' we 
 was gone two hours. Well, whin we got 
 back only the wan pipe was there, and a 
 cushibaloo made iv the place as ye see it 
 now." 
 
 "And Bertino, where ees-a?" 
 
 " Gone wid the pipe." 
 
 " Goin* weet de pipa?" echoed the 
 others. 
 
 273
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 "Didn't I say it?" 
 
 "And de bust-a, ees-a where?" asked 
 Signor Di Bello. 
 
 " Gone wid the pipe." 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried the grocer, who saw the 
 case against Juno crumbling. Locking his 
 hands behind him, he began to whistle 
 cheerfully, his eyes on the moving pictures 
 of the sky. 
 
 " Shame to you, my brother ! " broke 
 out Carolina. Then she took the witness 
 in hand. " When you have seen-a Bertino 
 de last-a time, ees-a when ? " 
 
 " Airly this mornin' whin we wint for 
 the dandelie-yuns, me and the childer here." 
 
 " And he no more coma back ?" 
 
 " Divvil a hair iv him." 
 
 " Bravo ! " again from the grocer, the 
 last barrier between him and Juno lev- 
 elled. 
 
 "Where he say he go?" asked Caro- 
 lina. 
 
 " Well, mum, if I understud his dog 
 Italian and his hog English, he said he was 
 274
 
 A House Divided 
 
 goin' to Jamaiky to ax at the post arface 
 was there a letter from somebody in Mul- 
 berry." 
 
 * 
 
 Signor Di Bello returned to New York 
 in high spirits. Whether the proofs of 
 Juno's attempted bigamy were and always 
 had been myths of Tomato's fancy was not 
 the question that seemed to him of most 
 import now. What towered above all else 
 was the monolithic fact that the proofs were 
 missing, and Juno might be his, after all. 
 As the wish gained firmer hold on the 
 thought, he began to view the doings of the 
 past two days as moves in a miscarried plot 
 of his sister's to cheat him of the woman 
 who challenged his taste. 
 
 In the train he sat apart from Carolina 
 and Armando and nursed his delight. They 
 could see that he was gloating over the 
 events that had cast them into hopeless 
 gloom. And while they brooded, Signor Di 
 Bello replanned his wedding. Arrived in 
 Mulberry, he made straight for the Restau- 
 275
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 rant of Santa Lucia and caroled the trium- 
 phant tidings to Juno. 
 
 " Did I not tell you they were a flock of 
 geese ? " he said, passing the bottle of bar- 
 ber a. " There was no bust, and, of course, 
 no husband. But there will be a husband 
 on the Feast of Sunday, my very sympa- 
 thetic one," he cooed. 
 
 "Ah ! Bertino has received my letter 
 and fled," she mused under her fallen eye- 
 lids as she tipped the glass. 
 
 That evening Signer Di Bello observed 
 to Carolina : 
 
 " There will be a wedding in this house 
 next Sunday. The priest will not be the 
 harebrained Father Nicodemo. I shall in- 
 vite many of my Genovese friends, some 
 Milanesi, some Torinesi, and a few of the 
 first families of the Calabriani, the Siciliani, 
 and the Napolitani, for I am a man above 
 race prejudice." 
 
 It was what she had dreaded since the 
 moment Bridget made known the fact of Ber- 
 tino's melting away. Convinced without 
 276
 
 A House Divided 
 
 proof, however that Juno was his wife, she 
 had resolved never to live under a bigamous 
 roof, though she might, with a wife of her 
 own selection, endure life in a monogamous 
 household. Wherefore she would secede 
 from Casa Di Bello embrace again the 
 rubric peace of the anagamous rectory. 
 Father Nicodemo had given her repeated 
 assurance that the latchstring was always 
 hanging out ; that the spaghetti sauces had 
 never been proper since she left ; that they 
 had despaired of having a palatable dish of 
 boiled snails fricasseed with pepper pods. 
 
 " Very well, my brother," she returned 
 frostily ; " when that Neapolitan baggage 
 comes in, I go out." 
 
 " Ah, you will enter the Church again, I 
 suppose," he taunted. " Have I not said it 
 truly once a priest always a priest ? " 
 
 " You will have the police in the house," 
 was her last word. 
 
 277
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE FEAST OF SPRINGTIDE 
 
 INSTEAD of the arrogant negative that he 
 had returned to Bertino's anxious inquiry 
 day after day, the postmaster of Jamaica 
 this morning threw out a yellow-enveloped 
 letter. 
 
 " Your uncle died to-day." 
 
 He did not stay to read further, but 
 thrust the paper into his pocket, fearful that 
 some one might be looking over his shoulder. 
 The blind terror of the hunted murderer was 
 full upon him. At first he moved away 
 almost on a run, but checked himself sud- 
 denly to a dawdling swing, and put on a 
 comic air of unconcern. Not until he was 
 far beyond the town, crossing the brushwood 
 solitude, did he take out the writing and read 
 278
 
 The Feast of Springtide 
 
 Juno's wily admonition : " Fly from Amer- 
 ica. The man-hunters are after you ! " 
 
 With sharper stride he pressed on, un- 
 mindful whither his course lay if only he 
 widened the distance between him and the 
 city. He had walked to the post office 
 twice a day for a week, and from habit now 
 he took the wagon track that zigzagged 
 toward the iron villa. The green bower 
 forming the roof of that matchless dwelling 
 rose to view as he turned into the road by 
 the railway track. A few yards onward the 
 penetrating whistle of a quail startled him, 
 and a flash of his affrighted fancy revealed 
 police rising from ambush on every side and 
 closing in. For the first time since leaving 
 the town he turned about, and beheld what 
 he had not dared look behind for dread of 
 seeing men coming after him. There were 
 six or seven of them, all in a group, and 
 gliding along so strangely. Gran Dio ! his 
 wife's warning had come too late. Why 
 had she waited until the hounds were fairly 
 sniffing at his heels ? What giants his pur- 
 279
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 suers were ! He could see their heads and 
 shoulders above the quivering foliage. Now 
 the ears of two horses showed, and the rum- 
 ble of wheels reached him. Ah! thus it 
 was these men could glide after him with- 
 out moving their bodies. Courage ! Maybe 
 they were not man-hunters at all. He would 
 see if they kept on in his track, or turned 
 the opposite way at the corner. Yes ; they 
 had struck into the road by the railway 
 and were galloping after him. Idiot that he 
 was to stand so long ! But he would elude 
 them. He knew the trails and secret hol- 
 lows in the bush that would cover his flight 
 and shelter him until they should give up 
 the search. What a fool he had been to 
 run ! Now they must know he was the 
 murderer ! On he sped past the iron villa, 
 not even glancing to see if Bridget and the 
 children were there. He reached the point 
 on the edge of the thicket where he intended 
 to plunge into its shielding labyrinth, but a 
 look behind told him that this was needless, 
 for the two-horse truck had come to a halt 
 280
 
 The Feast of Springtide 
 
 at the villa, and the men were moving about 
 the pipes, some kneeling and looking in. 
 The wind bore to him their shouts of laugh- 
 ter and inarticulate talk. Screened by the 
 dwarf oaks he crept nearer, until the confu- 
 sion of human voices became the dialect of 
 Sicily. 
 
 That the men were all Italians did not 
 drive away his fear of them. His racial faith 
 in the sanctity of the vendetta was not blind 
 enough to make the Genovese trust himself 
 to the Sicilian}, although the knowledge that 
 they were no emissaries of the Questura of 
 Police was somewhat of relief. 
 
 The gang stripped both pipes of their 
 green mantle, and tore out the bedding and 
 soap-box furniture of the dormitory tube. 
 Full of wonder, Bertino looked on. He 
 did not know that the letters " D. P. W." 
 painted boldly on the truck stood for De- 
 partment of Public Works, and that New 
 York was merely gathering up its half-for- 
 gotten property. In his wrath at this dese- 
 cration of the Tomato domicile he would 
 19 281
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 have sprung from his concealment and pro- 
 tested, but the thought that he was a mur- 
 derer held him back. He lurked at such 
 close range now that he recognised two of 
 the men as residents of Mulberry. One, 
 the foreman of the gang, he knew for a 
 distinguished political captain of a Sicilian 
 election district, and a prominent figure in 
 the social life of that quarter. So Bertino 
 dared not show himself even when they 
 dragged forth the box containing the Last 
 Lady. 
 
 " Beautiful ! " said the foreman. 
 
 " Beautiful ! " was the united echo. 
 
 " Listen, Andrea," the foreman went on, 
 addressing the other man whom Bertino 
 knew, " I find this thing on the city's prop- 
 erty, and I shall keep it. To Mulberry you 
 will carry it, my friend, for I have a famous 
 idea for the Feast of Springtide." 
 
 With block and tackle and much hauling 
 
 of ropes and singing of hee-hoo ! they 
 
 loaded the pipe on the truck. Then the 
 
 foreman and Andrea lifted on the bust, and 
 
 282
 
 The Feast of Springtide 
 
 before Bertino's eyes the Last Lady was ab- 
 ducted. 
 
 He did not rise from his covert until the 
 truck, its big horses straining at the traces 
 and the wheels glucking under their heavy 
 burden, had gone a quarter of a mile. Then 
 he started after it, keeping a safe distance 
 between himself and the men who might 
 recognise him at closer range. Only a 
 vague sense had he at first of the purpose 
 that impelled him onward ; he could not bear 
 to see his friend's precious work of months, 
 upon which he had built his very life hope, 
 thus carried away without doing something, 
 and that something, whatever it pleased Fate 
 to provide, could not be done unless he kept 
 the bust in sight. Later the clearer design 
 came to him of following the Last Lady to 
 her destination, and letting the banker know, 
 so that he might go forward and reclaim her 
 from the abductors. 
 
 Over dusty roads of the burning plains, 
 through woodland passes, in village streets, 
 and on the crazy pavements of Long Island 
 283
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 City he kept in her wake. With a feeling 
 of relief he saw the truck drive into a gate- 
 way, and while he waited to make sure that 
 she was to lodge there for the night Andrea 
 came out with a push-cart, and on it the well- 
 known pine box. Again he took up the 
 pursuit, which led this time to the ferry 
 and across to New York. For a moment he 
 shrank from trailing on through the city, 
 which his fancy filled with man-hunters peer- 
 ing into every face to find the murderer of 
 Signor Di Bello. But an impulse of fidelity 
 to Armando conquered his fears, and, turn- 
 ing up his coat collar and drawing his soft 
 hat over his eyes, he went on, dogging the 
 push-cart in all its fits and starts through the 
 lighted highways that he was sure teemed 
 with detectives. 
 
 At Bleecker Street and the Bowery An- 
 drea turned, and with a sinking of courage 
 Bertino guessed that the Last Lady was 
 bound for the very heart of Mulberry. Here 
 every man and woman would know him for 
 a murderer, and not a doorway or alley that 
 284
 
 The Feast of Springtide 
 
 would not have a law-hound in its shadow ! 
 But it was too late to falter. If the bust 
 were lost now he could never again look 
 Armando in the face. Bah ! he knew a trick 
 that would fool the police. He tied his 
 gingham handkerchief over his mouth and 
 struck forth, wholly confident that his dis- 
 guise was impenetrable. 
 
 Another turn into Elizabeth Street, where 
 the tribes of Sicily forgather, and Bertino 
 found himself amid the boisterous throng 
 in the flare of light and colour that of ages 
 belong to the Feast of Springtide. The 
 New World memory of the Sicilians' agri- 
 cultural festival was in the last of its three 
 days and nights of fantastic gaiety. All the 
 colony was out of doors. On both sides of 
 the way the house fronts were lost in a jun- 
 gle of American and Italian flags. In droop- 
 ing garlands that reached from window to 
 window across the street, dim-burning lights 
 in red and purple glasses gave the barbaric 
 scene a strange, sombre note. Men as dark 
 as Parsees, and their women decked with 
 285
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 paper flowers, and little girls in white frocks 
 crowned with real and make-believe blos- 
 soms, stood about, each bearing a lighted 
 candle, waiting eagerly to march in the pro- 
 cession that would go singing through Mul- 
 berry. Here and there, apart from the gab- 
 bling collection, was the face of a silent, pen- 
 sive one who looked on at the doings of 
 these wage slaves of the sweat-shop, building 
 scaffold, river tunnel. Did he see a thorn 
 on the rose of their festivity a plaintive 
 satire of Fate in this clinging to the poetic 
 shadows of their native vineyard and field 
 after the substance had been despised and 
 forsaken ? 
 
 The foreman had come to town by rail, 
 swelling with the political significance of his 
 find in the pipe. First he sounded a few 
 comrades in the wine-shop, and their approv- 
 ing "bravoes" told him that his idea for a 
 queen of the feast would hit the bull's-eye of 
 public opinion. Then with inflated chest he 
 proclaimed that he, the leader of the election 
 district, had not only an idea but its marble 
 286
 
 The Feast of Springtide 
 
 embodiment as well. Yes, a beautiful bust, 
 the masterpiece of a renowned sculptor, who 
 had been induced, at vast expense to him, 
 the leader of the election district, to do this 
 high honour to the brave Sicilian voters. 
 From tongue to tongue the news flew, and 
 when Andrea appeared with his push-cart 
 the expectant people, to whom symbolism 
 were ever precious, shouted a delighted wel- 
 come all along the line. 
 
 " Long live the Queen of Springtide ! " 
 By the time the procession was ready to 
 start, the Last Lady had been lifted out and 
 set upon a flower-strewn throne made of a 
 large packing-case that rested on the push- 
 cart. Then a crown of tinsel, typing the 
 sovereign power of the season over bread 
 and wine, was lowered from the wire where- 
 on it had hung above the middle of the 
 street somewhat oversized for the brow of 
 her stony majesty, but held in place by a pad- 
 ding of paper roses. The brass band blared, 
 and the pageant advanced, to the cock-a- 
 hoop strain of Italy's national quickstep. 
 287
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Bertino had looked on silently during the 
 metamorphosis of the bust, and when the 
 long column of candle-bearers moved he 
 kept abreast of the head. At length they 
 wheeled into Mulberry Street and passed by 
 Casa Di Bello. He had expected to see his 
 uncle's home in darkness and crape on the 
 door. But the windows showed light, and, 
 standing on the stoop to see the procession, 
 like all the populace of Mulberry, were 
 Aunt Carolina and he pushed the hat from 
 his brow at the risk of liberty and life, to 
 make sure that his eyes did not beguile him 
 yes, Marianna and Armando ! All in 
 America ! What did it mean ? Surely this 
 was no house of mourning. And these jeers 
 of the paraders, who jerked their thumbs at 
 Casa Di Bello : 
 
 " A bridegroom without a bride ! " 
 
 " Ha ! Signer Di Bello must hunt an- 
 other wife ! " 
 
 " He'd better ask her first if she has a 
 husband ! " 
 
 "The stable of the Genovese donkey !" 
 288
 
 The Feast of Springtide 
 
 No, no ; even these Sicilian pigs could 
 not be making game of a dead man. Pulling 
 the handkerchief from his mouth, he dashed 
 across the street, breaking through the ranks 
 and exploding a volley of hisses and wrathful 
 epithets from marchers and bystanders. 
 
 " Aunt Carolina ! Marianna ! Armando ! " 
 
 "Bertino!" 
 
 They all tried to hug and kiss him at 
 once. 
 
 "Are you Juno's husband?" were the 
 first coherent words. 
 
 " Yes ; miserable that I am ! " 
 
 " Bravo ! " exulted Carolina. " The Na- 
 politana shall not enter." 
 
 " And my uncle ? He lives ? " 
 
 " Lives ! By the mass ! He is too much 
 alive." 
 
 " Grazie a Dio ! I thought I had killed 
 him. She told me he was dead ; to fly, that 
 the police were after me." The others did 
 not understand just then. 
 
 " And the bust ? " breathed Armando. 
 
 " It is here." 
 
 289
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 The band had relapsed into silence, and 
 the air was rilled with the drone of a weird 
 island chant that lacked only the tom-tom to 
 perfect its Hindu cadence. The lips of the 
 marchers scarcely moved as they gave forth 
 their hymn of praise to the Genius of Spring. 
 And there was the Queen, wabbling along 
 in her push-cart chariot, the idol of Mul- 
 berry's rabble the " Presidentessa " whom 
 her creator had dreamed oh, so trustfully ! 
 to see enthroned upon a porphyry pedestal 
 in the White House, admired of the rich and 
 great. Armando would have dived into the 
 cortege, pushed aside the candle-bearers who 
 guarded the Queen, and striven to reclaim 
 his own, but the grip of Carolina's hands on 
 his arm held him back. She had guessed 
 his death-courting purpose. A picture of 
 knife-blades gleaming in the candlelight 
 flashed in her mind, and she put all her 
 strength in her grasp. 
 
 " Let go ! " he cried, tugging hard, but 
 Bertino clutched his other arm at the com- 
 mand of Carolina. " Magnificent God ! 
 290
 
 The Feast of Springtide 
 
 Am I to stand here and see them carry it 
 away ? " 
 
 " Fool ! " said Carolina. " Do you think 
 they will let you take their Queen ? A hun- 
 dred knives would stop you." 
 
 He ceased struggling. " But what shall 
 I do?" 
 
 " Patience ! Here, Bertino ; follow on, 
 learn whither the Sicilian swine take the 
 bust, and when their feast is over we shall 
 demand it." 
 
 Again Bertino took up the trail. 
 
 291
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 CAROLINA CONSTRUCTS A DRAMA 
 
 A THUNDERSTORM routed the procession, 
 sending the candle-bearers helter-skelter into 
 doorways, covered alleys, under the awnings 
 of the shops. At the first flash and report 
 of the sky's artillery Andrea deserted his 
 push-cart and its royal occupant. But the 
 dauntless leader of the election district was 
 at hand. With heroic calm he lifted the 
 Queen in his arms and unaided carried her 
 into the Gaffe of the Beautiful Sicilian. 
 Mulberry had but few men who could do 
 that she was of solid Carrara and thought- 
 ful voters saw in the feat a new mark of his 
 fitness for political chieftainship. She was 
 placed on a marble-top table in the corner 
 and the crown straightened on her spotless 
 292
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 brow. All night she held court, and until 
 the vender songs of the morning market 
 were heard in the streets. Bottle after bottle 
 joined the dead men, the rude quips and 
 quibbles grew noisy, quarrelsome, yet no 
 man drained a glass without first tipping it 
 in homage to the snub-nosed damsel whose 
 hollow eyes stared at every one all the time. 
 
 An hour before midnight Bertino and 
 Armando returned to Casa Di Bello to re- 
 port to Carolina the lodging place of the 
 Last Lady. Hardly had the bell sounded 
 when the door flew open, and Carolina came 
 out, finger at lips, with a great air of mys- 
 tery, and drawing to the panelled oak be- 
 hind her. 
 
 " Be off at once ! " she said, her voice 
 fluttering. " Here is money. Go anywhere 
 to-night- anywhere out of Mulberry. You, 
 Bertino, must not come back until until I 
 am ready for you. If she saw you it would 
 ruin all. Go ! Ask no questions. To- 
 morrow Armando will tell me where you 
 are, and we shall meet. Away ! " 
 293
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 With puzzled faces and mystified shakes 
 of the head Armando and Bertino took 
 themselves off, and Carolina re-entered at 
 the moment that Signor Di Bello was mount- 
 ing the staircase to his bedroom. A few 
 minutes before he had taunted her with the 
 failure of her scheme to cheat him of a 
 wife, and proclaimed again the idiocy of the 
 priest and all others who asserted that there 
 was a bust or a husband of Juno. A pretty 
 show they had made of him. All Mulberry 
 was laughing. But his time would come. 
 Next Sunday he would turn the tide, for 
 she would be his in spite of them all. 
 Carolina could do as she liked, go or stay ; 
 but a wedding there must and should be, 
 for that alone could save his good name as 
 a merchant and a signore. 
 
 He had spent a busy night with the 
 flasks of the Three Gardens along with some 
 choice comrades of the Genovese, and the 
 years had told Carolina that with her brother 
 it was always in vino veritas. Wherefore 
 she knew that he had spoken naught less 
 294
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 than a secret of his heart that a wish to 
 wipe out the stain of ridicule was an added 
 spur to his determination to marry. And 
 this knowledge sparked an idea that keyed 
 her cunning to its highest pitch. Without 
 an instant's delay she began to put the idea 
 into practice. Her first move was to keep 
 mum about the return of Bertino, although 
 she had waited up to flaunt in her brother's 
 face the news that his bride's husband would 
 stand before him in a few minutes. But the 
 new design that her crafty wits had seized 
 upon made that petty triumph seem not 
 worth while at least not until the tragic 
 moment she was preparing. Her next step, 
 as we have seen, was to get Bertino out of 
 the way. The corners of her closed mouth 
 curved in a smile of wily content as she 
 watched Signor Di Bello going up to his 
 room in blank ignorance of the little society 
 drama that was in her head. 
 
 " Good night, my dear brother," she said. 
 " To-morrow I will begin to make ready for 
 the wedding." 
 
 295
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 On the morrow she gave Angelica orders 
 to prepare a wedding feast that should be 
 the equal of the one that had gone to Father 
 Nicodemo's poor. She ordered her as well 
 to keep her mouth shut about the turning 
 up of Bertino, and the same command she 
 issued to Marianna. Neither the girl nor 
 the cook was able to fathom the purpose 
 of Carolina, but Marianna could not shake 
 off a besetting fear that it boded no good 
 for her. 
 - t t r t 
 
 It was a bright morning, and bright were 
 the spirits of Signor Di Bello, and springy 
 his step, as he walked to his shop in Paradise 
 Park. To his view there was not a speck on 
 the matrimonial prospect, and he exulted in 
 the promise of laughing last at those who 
 were now laughing at him. It was the day 
 that the proofs were to be presented to 
 Father Nicodemo, and he chuckled serene- 
 ly over the plight that the banker must 
 
 be in. 
 
 296
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 He had gone less than a block when Ar- 
 mando rang the bell of Casa Di Bello, and 
 Marianna, who had been watching for him 
 eagerly at the window, threw open the door. 
 Breathlessly she fell to telling him of the 
 plans for the wedding and her consequent 
 sense of impending disaster ; how Carolina 
 knew that Juno had one husband, and was 
 helping her to get another ! She had closed 
 her and Angelica's lips. What did it all 
 mean ? Something dreadful, she was sure. 
 If Armando would only take her away. 
 
 The interview was cut off by the voice 
 of Carolina, who appeared with her bonnet 
 on and took charge of Armando. 
 
 " Not a word," she admonished him, 
 " about Bertino's return or his marriage to 
 that baggage. Mind you do not tell a liv- 
 ing soul. My reasons you will know at the 
 proper time. Now, lead me to the Last 
 Lady." 
 
 Together they walked to the Gaffe of the 
 Beautiful Sicilian. On the threshold they 
 
 20 297
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 came face to face with the ex-banker. He 
 was in a fine frenzy of indignation. At day- 
 break that morning he had started from 
 what was left of the iron villa with a push- 
 cart load of dandelion leaves. After visit- 
 ing the rectory and making to Father Nico- 
 demo the humiliating report that the proofs 
 had vanished, there had come to his ear 
 news of the marble Queen of Springtide, 
 and the talk, current on a thousand tongues, 
 of her strong resemblance to the Neapolitan 
 who sang at La Scala, and whom the priest 
 had refused to marry to Signor Di Bello. 
 And here was the bust of which he had 
 been robbed. Oh, the money it had cost 
 him ! One hundred and forty dollars for 
 duty. Ah ! yes ; it was the cause of his 
 ruin. But for that cursed marble he would 
 be still a signore and one of the influential 
 bankers of Mulberry. He had demanded 
 his property, but the foreman would not 
 surrender it until he had proved his owner- 
 ship. What an outrage ! But it mattered 
 not now, for they, Armando and Signorina 
 298
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 Di Bello, would be his witnesses. "Who 
 well does climb is helped in time." 
 
 " Excuse me, signore," remarked Ar- 
 mando ; " this bust does not belong to you." 
 
 " What ! " shrieked the banker. 
 
 " No ; it is mine." 
 
 "Yours?" 
 
 " I made it." 
 
 " You made it, eh ?" the banker snapped. 
 " Very good. But who paid for it ? Eh, 
 who paid for it ? Answer that. Who paid 
 the one hundred and forty dollars of Dogana 
 you or I ? Give me back the duty money 
 and you may have the infernal thing ! Ugly 
 yellow snout ! " 
 
 Now, Carolina had a lively desire to pos- 
 sess the bust, for she needed it in the aveng- 
 ing play that she had begun to construct. 
 Nevertheless, her Italian thrift had not been 
 swamped by the wave of worldly purpose 
 that had of late come over her churchly 
 qualities. To pay the sum Signor Tomato 
 asked would necessitate an inroad upon her 
 savings-bank hoard, an act to which she 
 299
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 nerved herself only in the last resort. So 
 she exerted the might of her tongue in be- 
 half of Armando's claim, holding with pri- 
 mordial logic that the Last Lady belonged 
 to the sculptor by divine right of creation. 
 But the foreman, in his role of thief, custo- 
 dian of the stolen goods, and judge in equity, 
 had a homelier code of ethics for his guide. 
 It took him not a moment to decide. He 
 awarded the bust to the banker on the 
 ground that it was in his wife's possession at 
 the time of the theft, and must therefore be- 
 long to her husband. It was only the reduc- 
 tio ad maritiim to which all questions are 
 subject in Mulberry. The upshot was that 
 in the afternoon Carolina paid the one hun- 
 dred and forty dollars. 
 
 To Signer Tomato it seemed as if some 
 fairy wand had touched the world and made 
 it a garden of joy. Now they might take 
 away the other pipe any time, and he did not 
 care. His Bridget and the little Tomatoes 
 would not be homeless. In his transport 
 of gladness the rude life about him took on 
 300
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 a poetic beauty. The fragrance of Sorren- 
 tine orange groves filled the squalid streets ; 
 there was rapturous music in the shrieks of 
 the parrots on the fire escapes and window 
 sills ; the raucous notes of the hucksters en- 
 chanted his ear. To dear old Mulberry he 
 could return now and resume his proper 
 estate of banker and signore. Long live the 
 day in his thankfulness ! Never more would 
 he quarrel with his lot. Ah ! the grand truth 
 in the proverb, " Blind eyes lose their night 
 when gold is in sight." Straightway he went 
 to the landlord, got the key of the old shop, 
 and, when darkness had fallen, Bridget and 
 her brood were eating cabbage soup behind 
 the nankeen sail in the revivified Banca To- 
 mato. 
 
 But the Last Lady was still with them, 
 to the hearty disgust of Bridget. Not yet 
 had the hour arrived for Carolina to bring 
 the bust on the scene, and Signer Tomato, 
 with many a word and grimace of reluctance, 
 consented, under an oath of secrecy, to keep 
 it in his place until the supreme moment. 
 301
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Pains were taken that it should not be traced 
 to its new biding place. Armando had 
 pushed it away in a cart, taking a round- 
 about course from the Gaffe of the Beautiful 
 Sicilian to Paradise Park. Thus it happened 
 that when Signor Di Bello, to whose ears 
 had come the gossip of a bust that imaged 
 his lost bride, went to the caffk that morn- 
 ing to see for himself, the bird had again 
 flown. 
 
 " Bah ! Another stupid jest ! " he mut- 
 tered, and thrashed out of the room amid 
 the titters of a group of Sicilians. 
 
 Soon afterward Juno, an unwonted air 
 of wide-awake desire about her, entered the 
 cafk and asked to be shown the Queen of 
 Springtide. Before Signora Crispina, the 
 proprietor's peachblow wife, could answer, 
 there came from a half dozen throats the 
 merry chorus : 
 
 " Long live the Queen of Springtide !" 
 
 "Where is it?" Juno asked. 
 
 " She is here, signorina," said the wit 
 of the company, rising and tipping his hat. 
 302
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 "The lifeless Queen has just left us, but her 
 living Majesty is here. It is yourself, beau- 
 tiful signorina." 
 
 " Bah ! Where is the bust ? " 
 
 No one could answer. Armando was 
 unknown in Mulberry, and only three per- 
 sons Carolina, the banker, and himself 
 were in the secret of his destination when 
 he pushed away from the caffk with the Last 
 Lady in the cart. Juno went back to her 
 lodgings greatly disappointed. A dread had 
 settled upon her that this marble ghost 
 would spring up in her path somehow, and 
 foil her plans, after the manner of all well- 
 ordered avenging spirits. It had been her 
 intention, when she hurried to the caffk to 
 sound the rumour about the bust, to get 
 Signor Di Bello to buy it and give it to her. 
 Once in her hands, she would have seen to 
 it that the thing retired to a safe obscurity. 
 The bottom of the East River seemed to 
 her a particularly fit place for Armando's 
 masterpiece. She doubted no longer that 
 the bust had arrived in Mulberry, and the 
 303
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 mystery of its whereabouts gave her no 
 peace. 
 
 But it was not so with Signor Di Bello. 
 To the mind of the grocer, put upon so 
 hard by recent events, the talk about the 
 Queen's resemblance to his lost bride ap- 
 peared now as a hoax which had accom- 
 plished its purpose of drawing him to the 
 caffe only to be laughed at. If not, where 
 was the bust ? Surely he knew his people 
 too well to misinterpret this latest prank. 
 He knew. It was the first joke of a prac- 
 tical turn that any one had dared play on 
 him since the blunder at the church marked 
 him for the colony's ridicule. And he saw 
 therein a sure omen that flat insult would 
 quickly succeed the coarse raillery. Before 
 long women would spit at him in the street 
 and taunting youngsters tag at his heels. 
 Others that he knew of had tasted the 
 strange persecution. But it should not be 
 his lot, by the tail of Lucifer ! On the 
 Feast of Sunday his marriage must silence 
 every idle tongue. For then he would cease 
 304
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 to be that despised of all creatures, a bride- 
 groom without a bride. 
 
 That his lively taste for Juno's grace of 
 person had become second to a desire to 
 avert the rising gale of mockery, Carolina 
 understood very well. And upon this change 
 of his nuptial motive she rested full confi- 
 dence of success for her own designs. No 
 bar to her project showed itself until she 
 visited Bertino, at the cheap hotel on the 
 East Side, whither he and Armando had 
 taken themselves. Then she found that the 
 leading man of her drama had notions of his 
 own about his part that would wreck the 
 plot. He was for killing the feminine villain 
 before the curtain rose. To her directions 
 that he keep out of sight until Sunday he 
 demurred vehemently. How could he wait 
 so long when the vendetta was boiling in his 
 veins ? His wife had done him a deadly 
 wrong, and, per Dio / deadly should be the 
 accounting. 
 
 " See the grand trouble she has caused to 
 me, to my friend, and to poor Marianna !" 
 305
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " To Marianna ? " she asked, in genuine 
 wonder. " What wrong has she done her?" 
 
 " Were not she and Armando to wed 
 when his Presidentessa should be sold ? A 
 long time they must wait now. Thunder- 
 ing heavens ! But she shall 'pay." 
 
 " You are mistaken," rejoined Carolina, 
 with a note of authority. " It would have 
 made no difference to Marianna. She was 
 not to wed Armando in any case." 
 
 " I know better. Anyway, I shall not 
 sit here biting my lips until the Feast of 
 Sunday, and perhaps be cheated of my right. 
 Who knows when she may fly ? " 
 
 " No fear of that." 
 
 " No ? Why not ? I tell you she 
 knows what to expect from me, and is no 
 simpleton." Then he lowered his voice to 
 a stage whisper, first opening the door and 
 making sure that there was no listener in 
 the hall. " Twice I would have killed her, 
 but once I deceived myself, and the other 
 time she gammoned me with a lie that 
 made me try to kill my uncle. Don't you 
 306
 
 Carolina Constructs a Drama 
 
 see that I can not wait here while she may 
 be getting away ? " 
 
 " I promise you she will not leave Mul- 
 berry. Do you wish to know why ? Well, 
 it is because she thinks you have fled from 
 America and that she is free to become your 
 uncle's wife. Ah ! don't you see the fine 
 vendetta I am hatching for you ? On the 
 Feast of Sunday you appear and stop the 
 wedding. The Neapolitan beast is kicked 
 out of Casa Di Bello. You follow her and 
 claim- your rights. Is it not a sweet ven- 
 detta f " 
 
 " Yes," said Bertino after a pause. " I 
 will wait." 
 
 307
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A PARTNERSHIP IN TEN-INCH ST. PETERS 
 
 THOUGH Carolina had not been blind to 
 the meaning of the signals flashed by Ar- 
 mando and Marianna's eyes whenever the 
 lovers were together, Bertino's words stirred 
 her to the need of taking instant measures 
 to smother any marplot that might brew from 
 their attachment. To this end she resolved 
 to keep them apart until the final act of her 
 private theatricals should be played. Thus 
 it fell out that on Friday, two days before 
 the time for Signor Di Bello's second essay 
 at a wedding, when Armando called to deliver 
 a most weighty message to Marianna, he was 
 met at the door with Carolina's avowal that 
 the girl was indisposed. He might have 
 credited the dreadful news but for a face 
 308
 
 A Partnership in Ten-inch St. Peters 
 
 that he saw at the window as he walked 
 away, and a pair of hands and lips that were 
 telegraphing with much energy. " Wait, 
 and I shall be out," was the only part of 
 Marianna's excited display that he under- 
 stood. But it was enough to insure his 
 waiting a week, had that been necessary. 
 As it was, she did not come until darkness 
 had called lights to the cafft windows and 
 the banks and grocery shops had put up their 
 shutters. 
 
 " It is finished now," she said, hatless and 
 breathing hard. " I can never go back to 
 Casa Di Bello." 
 
 "What matter?" he asked, taking her 
 hand, and for the first time in many a day 
 showing a joy and contempt for circum- 
 stance that befitted his years. " Come along. 
 I have beautiful news. Let us go to the 
 gardens of Paradise." 
 
 It was the first music night of the season, 
 
 and the Park had become a vast potbouilli 
 
 of Italy's children, with a salting from the 
 
 Baxter Street Ghetto and a peppering of 
 
 309
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 "Chimmies" and " Mamies " from the old 
 Fourth Ward. Armando and Marianna 
 made their way through the seething mass 
 about the band, deaf to the rag-time melody 
 that filled the sultry air and without eyes 
 for the gorgeous red coats of the musicians. 
 He was telling her how from the blackness 
 of his despair the light of knowledge had 
 suddenly broken, and how in the bitterness 
 of his exile he had found the sweet of con- 
 tent. Far from the band stand, they crowd- 
 ed on to a bench beside two women with 
 yellow babies at their breasts, and Armando 
 continued : 
 
 " It was last night, and I was here alone, 
 with only the stars for companions. All 
 Mulberry was asleep. First I thought only 
 of myself, and my heart was heavy. Then 
 the points of gold in the sky seemed to 
 whisper to whisper of you, my precious. 
 After that I was happy. Do you know why ? 
 Ah, it was because I had made up my mind." 
 
 " Yes," she repeated eagerly ; "you made 
 up your mind to 
 
 310
 
 A Partnership in Ten-inch St. Peters 
 
 " Go home." 
 
 "And I?" 
 
 " You go with me. There ; do you not 
 see now why I am happy ? " 
 
 " Madonna-Maria be glorified ! " she cried, 
 and the women by their side exchanged 
 glances and grunts. " When ? " 
 
 " By the first ship for Genoa." 
 
 "When is that?" 
 
 " Some day next week." 
 
 " Joy ! " 
 
 " Ah ! is it not fine ? To go back to 
 Italy ! " 
 
 " Si ; fine." She paused a moment pen- 
 sively, then asked, " Have you bought the 
 passage tickets ? " 
 
 " No ; she has not paid me yet for the 
 bust." 
 
 " Who has not paid you ?" 
 
 " Signorina Di Bello." 
 
 " How do you know she will give you 
 any money ? " 
 
 " Ah ! I saw it in her eye. And did she 
 not say, when I spoke of my poor marble
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 did she not say that perhaps it would not 
 prove so poor, after all ? Oh, she will pay, I 
 am sure. How much ? Ah ! who can tell 
 that ? But surely it will be enough to take 
 us back to Cardinali, and what more can we 
 ask ? There we shall be happy. No more 
 shall you go to the mill, for have I not my 
 house and workshop, and will not Genoa be 
 glad again to buy my ten-inch Saint Peters?" 
 
 " Ah ! si. Genoa will be glad. And I ? 
 Shall I not take them to the Gallery of 
 Cristoforo Colombo and sell them just as 
 old Daniello did ? By my faith, I think I 
 shall bring home as much silver as ever he 
 did, and more." 
 
 "Si, si; who would not buy of you, 
 angelo d'amore f " 
 
 He kissed her lips and fair tresses, and 
 the women with their nurslings left the 
 bench. Thus, and for hours, the exiles lived 
 in the new-found bliss of their present while 
 planning a joyous future. Over the buzz of 
 the grimy, toil-bound multitude the notes of 
 the distant band came to them vaguely 
 312
 
 A Partnership in Ten-inch St. Peters 
 
 now in a fugitive creak, then in a faint rum- 
 ble or detached crash. 
 
 It was long after the music had died out, 
 and the people had gone to their tenements, 
 and the pale eye of night had peeped tardily 
 over a zigzag line of low roofs, when Mari- 
 anna said : 
 
 " Dio / So late ! She will not let me 
 in." 
 
 They walked to Casa Di Bello at a smart 
 pace, and timidly she rang the bell, while 
 Armando waited not many yards away. In- 
 stantly the door opened, and he saw the 
 hand of Carolina reach forth, grasp his love 
 by the shoulder, and jerk her into the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 TWO TROUBLESOME WEDDING GIFTS 
 
 LOOKING down upon Genoa through the 
 blue reaches of the upper crests is an Apen- 
 nine peak which the people, high and low, 
 call Our Lady of the Windows. Ever 
 mantled in snow, and a fit emblem of icy 
 virtue, she has for ages inspired a negative 
 chord for that region's lyres of passion. The 
 princeling in his hillside palazzo sings of his 
 dream lady always an angel as fervid as the 
 glacial Madonna is cold ; the red waterman, 
 in his moonlight barcarole, swears 'his love 
 would melt that frozen heart. But she bears 
 no kinship to this chronicle save that Signer 
 Di Bello, on the afternoon of the pregnant 
 Feast of Sunday, when all was primed for 
 3H
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 the wedding, thus addressed his sister, who 
 sat by a front casement : 
 
 " Ha ! my Lady of the Windows, it is 
 time to go and fetch my bride." 
 
 Carolina gave back only a silent nod and 
 a closer pressure of the lips, and he made off 
 to the Santa Lucia, crowing to himself over 
 the timely bite of his pleasantry. Hour 
 after hour she had been at that window 
 watching for Bertino, ready to spring to the 
 door and drive him away should he appear 
 too soon. She was determined that the 
 play should not be spoiled by the untimely 
 entrance of her star actor. His cue, as 
 agreed upon, was the exit of Signor Di 
 Bello, but the fear had haunted her that his 
 itching vendetta might make him forget the 
 book. That danger was past now, and be- 
 fore his uncle had gone a block, Bertino was 
 at the door. She bundled him upstairs to 
 her sanctum, and, turning the key, left him 
 looking out blankly on the graveyard. " In 
 a little while I shall call you," she said, after 
 explaining gravely that she locked him in 
 3*5
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 that his uncle might be kept out. Then she 
 descended to the street door and waved her 
 hand, a signal that brought a push-cart out 
 of a near-by alley, with Armando and the 
 banker at its shafts. Of course, their load 
 was the Last Lady, but no eye could see her 
 face, for Bridget had given her best and only 
 bed coverlet to veil it. No easy task to lug 
 the weighty dame upstairs, but they managed 
 it without mischance, while Carolina stood 
 by imploring care, and all with an ado of 
 deepest secrecy. At length the bust \vas set 
 up in the back room of the second floor. In 
 this room the bride and groom were to wait 
 before going down to the parlour for the 
 ceremony. A dressing case near the window 
 answered for a pedestal. In the bright light 
 that fell upon it the snowy features of Juno 
 showed bold to the eye, while the mirror 
 rendered back in softer tone her sturdy neck 
 and shoulders. With a spotless sheet Caro- 
 lina covered the bust, and with the others 
 left the room and locked the door. 
 
 Repeated jangling of the bell and a low 
 316
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 drone in the parlour told of arriving guests. 
 Marianna had been cast for the part .of door- 
 opener and welcomer to the first families. 
 Armando, in the best attire he could muster, 
 had only a meditative role. Thus far he 
 had done naught but sit in the parlour and 
 exchange confident glances with Marianna 
 whenever she ushered in a distinguished Ca- 
 labriano, Siciliano, or Napolitano. 
 
 A cab bearing Signor Di Bello and Juno 
 drew up betimes, and word was passed to 
 Carolina. Instantly she unlocked the door 
 that shut in Bertino, and bade him be ready 
 for her summons. Then she called Mari- 
 anna and Armando to the room where the 
 bust was, leaving Angelica to let in the 
 bridal pair. Up the staircase they rustled, 
 Juno first, her skirts held free of the yel- 
 low boots, and Signor Di Bello smiling 
 after her with a quivering bunch of muslin 
 roses. 
 
 " They are here," said the guests, craning 
 their necks and whispering. " No fiasco this 
 time." 
 
 317
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 "This way, signorina," piped Carolina, 
 with a spidery smile, stepping aside and 
 waving her fly into the web. 
 
 They entered the room prepared for 
 them, and Signer Di Bello regarded in won- 
 der the white shape on the dressing case. 
 " Soul of a camel ! " he cried. " What is 
 that?" 
 
 "A little surprise that we have for the 
 bride," answered Carolina, advancing and 
 raising the window shade. " A wedding pres- 
 ent, in fact. Eccolo / " 
 
 She drew off the veil quickly, and the 
 Last Lady stood revealed in the streaming 
 sunlight. 
 
 " By the Egg of Columbus ! " 
 
 Every eye turned from the marble Juno 
 to the Juno of flesh and blood. She had let 
 fall the counterfeit blossoms that the signore 
 had just placed in her hand, but gave no 
 other token of disquiet. A glow of admira- 
 tion lit up her face as she gazed steadily at 
 her double in stone. 
 
 " It is really beautiful," she said calmly,
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 moving nearer. " I knew I should look well 
 in marble." 
 
 She passed one hand behind the bust as 
 though to judge it by the sense of touch, 
 but before any one could hinder she lifted it 
 to the window sill and sent it somersault- 
 ing into the rear court. The crash brought 
 a score of heads to the lower windows, and 
 the guests set up a cry that disaster had 
 again visited the wedding of Signer Di 
 Bello. 
 
 " Infame ! in fame I" chorused Carolina, 
 Armando, and Marianna when they looked 
 out and beheld the Last Lady in a dozen 
 pieces on the flagstones, while the bride- 
 groom merely laughed, for it seemed to him 
 a capital joke. 
 
 Juno was quick to follow her prompt 
 action with suitable words. " You dogs of 
 Genovese ! " she said, sweeping the company 
 with her flashing eyes. " Do you like the 
 bust now ? Did you think 1 would stand 
 still and be made a fool of, or that I would 
 fall down and weep ? " Then, turning to 
 319
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 Carolina, "And you, Signorina Old Maid, 
 you are a large piece of stupidity." 
 
 " Ha ! You do not like my present ! " 
 said Carolina, ready for the combat. "That 
 is a grand pity. But, mark you, on her wed- 
 ding day a married maid must be suited to 
 her heart's full desire. I will give you an- 
 other present yes, a present that every 
 married maid must have. Do you guess ? 
 No ? How strange ! " She went into the 
 hall and called, "Bertino!" Instantly he 
 darted in and stood panting before his wife. 
 " Here is the other present, my married 
 maid your husband ! " 
 
 At the same moment there arose from 
 the parlour a tumult of voices, and An- 
 gelica entered and said that the priest had 
 arrived. 
 
 "Are you her husband ?" groaned Signer 
 Di Bello, his hope all gone. 
 
 " Yes," Bertino answered, glaring at 
 
 Juno. " She is my wife, the viper ! She 
 
 put me up to stabbing you, my uncle. She 
 
 told me you annoyed her ; that she did not 
 
 320
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 want you. But she shall pay ! " he cried, 
 waving his hand above his head. " Do you 
 hear, you Neapolitan thief ? You shall pay. 
 After that to inferno with you, and may 
 you remain there as long as it takes a crab 
 to go round the world ! Figlia of a priest ! 
 Wolf of " 
 
 " Stop ! " broke in Signer Di Bello. Go- 
 ing up to Juno, he asked mournfully, " Is 
 he your husband ? " 
 
 She answered, tossing her head : " He 
 says so. Let him prove it." 
 
 Signor Di Bello grasped the other end of 
 the straw. " Ah, yes ; prove it," he roared, 
 while Carolina smiled snugly, for she had 
 looked to it that the properties for this 
 scene were not lacking. 
 
 "You want proof?" asked Bertino. 
 " Well, it is here." He drew a marriage cer- 
 tificate from his pocket. 
 
 Signor Di Bello seized the document 
 
 and cast his eye over it. The disorder 
 
 below had redoubled, and with the noisy 
 
 demands for the bride and groom were 
 
 321
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 mingled derisive shouts of " Long live the 
 Genovese bachelor ! " and " Another fiasco ! " 
 
 " Soul of the moon ! It is true ! " 
 breathed Di Bello, crunching the paper in 
 style theatrical. 
 
 " Bah ! " returned Juno, moving near to 
 him and putting her hand on his arm. 
 " You believe that ? " 
 
 " Believe me,- then, signori," spoke up a 
 strange voice, in grammatical but English- 
 bred Italian. It was the priest from over 
 the border of Mulberry, who had come up- 
 stairs to learn the reason of the delay and 
 heard the last few lines of the dialogue the 
 priest whom Signor Di Bello had engaged 
 because he would not meddle. Turning to 
 Juno he continued : " I had the honour, 
 signora, of marrying you to this man." 
 
 "Padre!" exclaimed Bertino, who knew 
 him at once for the clergyman he had sought 
 out so hurriedly at the rectory in Second 
 Avenue that day when, to outwit his uncle- 
 black the hour! he had taken Juno to wife. 
 
 " I know him not," said Juno, turning to 
 322
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 Signor Di Bello, who had dropped into a 
 chair. But her game of bluff was lost. " Go ! " 
 the grocer said to her, pointing to the door. 
 
 She moved to the threshold, turned 
 about, spat into the room, and said, " May 
 you all die cross-eyed!" a Neapolitan fig- 
 ure that means " Be hanged to you ! " since 
 the gallows bird squints when the noose 
 tightens. Then she rustled downstairs, 
 mindful of her purple skirts. Bertino would 
 have been at her heels but for Carolina, who 
 caught his arm. 
 
 " Wait," she whispered. " This is not 
 the time or place." 
 
 " No matter ! " he cried, shaking off her 
 hold. " She shall pay, she shall pay !" 
 
 The sight of Juno's yellow boots on the 
 staircase served to quiet the troubled parlour 
 for a brief moment, the people thinking that 
 the bride and groom were coming at last. 
 But she had seen the stiletto in her hus- 
 band's eye, and was out of the door, into the 
 waiting coupe", and driving off at high speed 
 before the first families had wholly grasped 
 323
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 the scandalous fact. Next moment there 
 was another flying exit, and Bertino went 
 tearing after the carriage. This was the sig- 
 nal for unheard-of insults to Casa Di Bello. 
 The men set up a sirocco of hisses, and the 
 women shouted mock bravoes for the twice- 
 brideless groom. During the uproar Ales- 
 sandro the Macaroni Presser led a push-and- 
 grab attack on a side table heaped with the 
 kaleidoscopic dainties with which Mulberry 
 loves to tickle its eye as well as its gullet. 
 
 " Dio tremendo ! " whimpered Signor Di 
 Bello, the tumult downstairs assailing his 
 ears. " What a disgrace ! what a disgrace ! " 
 
 It was Carolina's cue, and she snapped it 
 up. In a few quick words she unmasked 
 the marital climax her drama was meant to 
 produce. 
 
 " Disgrace ?" she said. " What need of 
 disgrace, my brother ? Are not the guests 
 here, is the feast not waiting, also the priest, 
 and the bride ready ? " 
 
 "The bride?" 
 
 " Yes, and one that is worth a hundred 
 324
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 nay, a thousand of the baggage that you 
 have lost ; the bride that I have brought you 
 all the way from Cardinali. Hear those 
 cattle below, how they bellow and stamp on 
 your name ! But my bride can shut their 
 ugly mouths. Here is the young and sym- 
 pathetic Marianna." 
 
 She turned slightly and beckoned Mari- 
 anna to her side, but the girl remained where 
 she was, hand in hand with Armando. 
 
 " No, no," said Marianna, recoiling. 
 
 " Bah ! She is young, my brother, and 
 does not know what she wants. Can't you 
 see that if you are not married at once the 
 colony will always despise you ? Never again 
 shall you hold up your head." 
 
 " But the people will know just the same 
 that I have been put in a sack," groaned Di 
 Bella 
 
 " Listen," said Carolina, putting a finger 
 beside her nose shrewdly. " Those people 
 are fools. They will believe anything you 
 say, if only you go before them with a bride. 
 Let it be one of your famous jokes. A little 
 325
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 surprise you have prepared for your dear 
 friends. Naturally, they had you betrothed 
 to the wrong woman, for that was all a part 
 of the joke. You laugh at them then. 
 You laugh last. How silly they will feel ! 
 What merriment ! - Ah ! they will say it is 
 Signor Di Bello's grandest joke ! " 
 
 " By the stars of heaven, I will ! " cried 
 the grocer. " Here, my pretty Marianna, 
 do you wish to be a happy wife ? " 
 
 "Yes," the girl answered, nestling closer 
 to Armando, " but but not yours." 
 
 The priest, looking out of the window, 
 shook his sides. 
 
 " You must be his ! " said Carolina, catch- 
 ing hold of her arm and striving to drag 
 her away from Armando. 
 
 " She shall not ! " cried the sculptor, 
 placing an arm about Marianna, authority 
 in his eye and voice. " Take off your hand. 
 No one else shall have her." 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed Signor Di Bello. 
 " Let the pigs squeal. I am not a man to 
 marry a girl against her will." 
 326
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 Carolina's colour ran the scale of red and 
 white, her fingers writhed, and her eyes set 
 upon Armando's curling hair. She saw the 
 curtain ringing down on her self-serving 
 drama, and the cherished denouement left 
 out. In her fury she would have tested 
 the roots of the sculptor's locks, but the 
 priest stepped between them, and raised his 
 hand. 
 
 " Signorina," he said, his voice a distinct 
 note of calm above the storm below, "if 
 you sincerely desire to save your brother 
 from the contempt of his neighbours it may 
 be done better by the union of these young 
 hearts than by tearing them asunder. Let 
 us consider. You speak of the merry jest." 
 Here the good man's eyes twinkled his zest in 
 the wholesome trick to be played. " Would 
 it not be a greater joke if the people found 
 that they had betrothed not alone the 
 wrong bride, but the wrong groom as well ; 
 in fact, had come to the marriage of one 
 couple only to find another walk into the 
 parlour with the priest ? " 
 327
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 For a moment no one caught his mean- 
 ing. Then he went on, with equal counte- 
 nance : " What I mean is that you silence 
 the tongue of scandal by having a wedding 
 at once, with this pair of turtle-doves as the 
 bride and groom." 
 
 " Bravo ! " Signer Di Bello whooped, 
 grasping the priest's hand. " Indeed a fa- 
 mous joke. I will tell them that it was all 
 fun about my getting married ; that it was 
 to be my foster niece and her sweetheart 
 all the time. Ah, the side-splitting joke ! " 
 
 " Come, then," said the priest, without 
 waiting for Carolina's approval ; and the 
 joyous Armando and Marianna, with Signor 
 Di Bello last in the procession, followed him 
 to the parlour. 
 
 Carolina did not go downstairs, but 
 turned into her sanctum, and with flooding 
 eyes looked out on San Patrizio's graveyard. 
 She heard the muffled outburst of wonder 
 that greeted the bridal twain in the parlour, 
 and alert was her ear to the growing quiet 
 that became silence when the priest began 
 128 
 
 o-
 
 Two Troublesome Wedding Gifts 
 
 the nuptial rites. Soon the merriment of 
 the feast rang beneath her feet. Plainly the 
 lying joke was a great success. Ah ! what 
 a fine vendetta it would be to go down there 
 and tell them all the truth even now while 
 her brother was cracking walnuts on his 
 head and making the table roar ! But no ; 
 of strife she was weary. She longed for 
 peace for the peace that lay beyond that 
 gray forest of mortuary shafts ; the peace 
 beyond that rectory door, to which the latch 
 string beckoned and a soft voice, clear above 
 the revelry, seemed calling: " Perpetua, per- 
 petua, riposo, pace." 
 
 When Armando, with one hundred dol- 
 lars in his pocket the grateful tribute of 
 Signor Di Bello went to Banca Tomato 
 to buy two second-class tickets for Genoa, 
 the banker led him behind the nankeen sail 
 sewed together again by Bridget and 
 whispered that Bertino would be on the 
 same ship in the steerage. 
 
 " Did she pay ?" asked the sculptor. 
 22 329
 
 The Last Lady of Mulberry 
 
 " No, not all : a cut on the cheek ; a 
 clumsy thrust, dealt in a dark alley, where 
 he waited for her all night. But mark you, 
 the fool wanted to stay, to go back to 
 make her pay more to pay all. He is not 
 satisfied ; and in truth I do not blame him. 
 She ought to pay all." 
 
 "Si all." 
 
 " But how could he go back to her, 
 where a dozen man-hunters are waiting ? 
 They have been here, the loons, to see if 
 he bought a ticket. They will not find him. 
 He will stay where he is until until it is 
 time to go on the ship. Ah, my friend, 
 it was grand trouble to make him do this. 
 He was for going back to her to the man- 
 hunters. But I gave him the light of a wise 
 proverb, and he saw : Better an egg to-day 
 than a hen to-morrow." 
 
 330
 
 FELIX GRAS'S ROMANCES. 
 
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 Averages. 
 
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 types, and, moreover, they are not literary echoes. For a writer 
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 takes work as well as talent. The people of the story are real, 
 plausible, modern creatures, with the fads and weaknesses of 
 to-day." M T. Life. 
 
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 novel to their taste. . . . There are interesting love episodes 
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 Fowler has all the arts. She disposes of her materials in a perfectly work- 
 manlike manner. Her tale is well proportioned, everything is in its place, 
 and the result is thoroughly pleasing." Claudius Clear, in the British 
 Weekly. 
 
 " An excellent novel in every sense of the word, and Miss Ellen Thorney 
 croft Fowler is to be congratulated on having made a most distinct and 
 momentous advance." London Telegraph. 
 
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 /CONCERNING ISABEL CARNABY. No. 252, 
 
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 TWO SUCCESSFUL AMERICAN NOVELS. 
 
 A TITUDE 19. A Romance of the West Indies in 
 the Year of our Lord 1820. Being a faithful account and true, 
 of the painful adventures of the Skipper, the Bo's'n, the Smith, 
 the Mate, and Cynthia. By Mrs. SCHUYLER CROWNINSHIELD. 
 Illustrated. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " ' Latitude 19 ' is a novel of incident, of the open air, of the sea, the shore, the 
 mountain eyrie, and of breathing, living entities, who deal with Nature at first hand. . . . 
 The adventures described are peculiarly novel and interesting. . . . Packed with 
 incidents, infused with humor and wit, and faithful to the types introduced, this book 
 will surely appeal to the large audience already won, and beget new friends among 
 those who believe in fiction that is healthy without being maudlin, and is strong with- 
 out losing the truth." New York Herald. 
 
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 fecundity of invention that never, lags, and a judiciously used vein of humor." Tht 
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 " A volume of deep, undeniable charm. A unique book from a fresh, sure, vigorous 
 pen." Boston Journal. 
 
 " Adventurous and romantic enough to satisfy the most exacting reader. . . . 
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 one is continually amazed by the plausibility of the main incidents of the narrative. 
 ... A very successful effort to portray the sort of adventures that might have taken 
 place in the West Indies seventy-five or eighty years ago. . . . Very entertaining with 
 its dry humor." Boston Herald. 
 
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 HERALD OF THE WEST. An American 
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 teaches patriotism without intolerance, and it shows, what the war with Spain has 
 demonstrated anew, the power of the American icople when they are deeply roused by 
 some great wrong." San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " The book throughout is extremely well written. It is condensed, vivid, pictu- 
 resque. ... A rattling good story, and unrivaled in fiction for its presentation of the 
 American feeling toward England during our second conflict." Boston Herald. 
 
 " Holds the attention continuously. . . . The book abounds in thrilling attractions. 
 ... It is a solid and dignified acquisition to the romantic literature of our own coun- 
 try, built around facts and real persons." Chicago Times-Herald. 
 
 " In a style that is strong and broad, the author of this timely novel takes up a 
 nascent period of our national history and founds upon it a story of absorbing interest." 
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 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
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 BY A. CONAN DOYLE. 
 Uniform edition. lamo. Cloth, $1.50 per volume. 
 
 DUET, WITH AN OCCASIONAL CHORUS. 
 
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 Press. 
 
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 thing that its author has done. . . . We can heartily recommend ' A Duet ' to all classes 
 of readers. It is a good book to put into the hands of the young of either sex. It will 
 interest the general reader, and it should delight the critic, for it is a work of.art. This 
 story taken with the best of his previous work gives Dr. Doyle a very high place in 
 modern letters." Chicago Times-Herald. 
 
 T TNCLE BERN AC. A Romance of the Empire. 
 
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 HE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD. 
 
 A Romance of the Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier. 
 
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 by ' The Three Musketeers.' . . . Written with a dash and swing that here and thre 
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 living and moving in an atmosphere charged with the spirit of the hard-living, hard- 
 fighting Anglo-Saxon." New York Critic. 
 
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 OUND THE RED LAMP. 
 
 Being Facts and Fancies of Medical Life, 
 
 "A strikingly realistic and decidedly original contribution to modern literature.' 
 Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
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 HE STARK MUNRO LETTERS. 
 
 Being a Series of Twelve Letters written by STARK MUNRO, M. B., 
 to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, of 
 Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884. 
 
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 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 BY S. R. CROCKETT. 
 
 Uniform edition. Each, lamo, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 '1THE STANDARD BEARER. An Historical 
 
 * Romance. 
 
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 1898 have passed without bringing to the reviewers' desk anything to be compared 
 with it in beauty of description, convincing characterization, absorbing plot and humor- 
 ous appeal. The freshness and sweet sincerity of the tale are most invigorating, and 
 that the book will be very much read there is no possible doubt." Boston Budget. 
 
 " The book will move to tears, provoke to laughter, stir the blood, and evoke hero- 
 isms of history, making the reading of it a delight and the memory of it a stimulus and 
 a )oy"New York Evangelist. 
 
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 ADS' LOVE. Illustrated. 
 
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 sonal experience. However modified and disguised, it is hardly possible to think that 
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 'LEG KELLY, ARAB OF THE CITY. His 
 
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 life of diamonds to be caught and held palpitating in expression's grasp." Boston 
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 its genial humor, artistic local coloring, and admirable portrayal of character. " Boston 
 Home Journal. 
 
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 'HE LILAC SUNBONNET. Eighth edition. 
 
 " A love story, pure and simple, one of the old fashioned, wholesome, sun- 
 shiny kind, with a pure-minded, sound-hearted hero, and a heroine who is merely a 
 good and beautiful woman; and if any other love story half so sweet has been written 
 this year it has escaped our notice." New York Times. 
 
 " The general conception of the story, the motive of which is the growth of love 
 between the young chief and heroine, is delineated with a sweetness and a freshness, 
 a naturalness and a certainty, which places ' The Lilac Sunbonnet ' among the best 
 itories of the time." New York Mail and Express. 
 
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 BY ALBERT LEE. 
 
 J2mo. Cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 
 IN APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. 
 
 The Gentleman Pensioner. 
 
 The scene of this admirable historical romance 
 is laid in the tumultuous England of the sixteenth 
 century, at the time when the plots of the parti- 
 sans of Mary Stuart against Elizabeth seemed to 
 be approaching a culmination. The hero, Queen 
 Elizabeth's confidential messenger, has a trust to 
 execute which involves a thrilling series of adven- 
 tures. This stirring romance has been compared 
 to "A Gentleman of France," and it is safe to say 
 that no reader will find in its pages any reason for 
 flagging interest or will relinquish the book until 
 the last page has been reached. 
 
 The Key of the Holy House. 
 
 A Romance of Old Antwerp. 
 
 " A romance of Antwerp in the days of the 
 Spanish oppression. Mr. Lee handles it in vigor- 
 ous fashion." London Spectator. 
 
 " This is a fascinating specimen of the historical 
 romance at its best, the romance which infuses 
 energetic life into the dry facts of history. "- 
 Philadelphia Press. 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 fltU'U LU-UKU 
 
 S MAY 2 Z 1972 
 
 Form L9-Series 444
 
 A 000 097 955 9