Part 37 (1/2)

”I think our yard at home is big enough for two or three statues; and a marble well-head and a sundial would be lovely,” exclaimed Aunt Kathryn.

”We'll look at some,” said Mr. Barrymore, motioning to the gondolier.

”But now, unless you're to pay six times what everything's worth, you must put yourselves in my hands. Remember, you don't care to glance either at statues, well-heads, or sun-dials.”

”But that's what we're here for!” cried Aunt Kathryn.

”Ah, but the man mustn't guess that for the world! We appear to be searching for--let's say, mirrors; but not finding the kind we want, we _may_ deign to look at a few marbles as we pa.s.s. We don't fancy the fellow's stock; still, the things aren't bad; we may decide to save ourselves the trouble of going further. Whatever you do, don't mention a price, even in English. Appear bored and indifferent, never pleased or anxious. When I ask if you're willing to pay so and so, drawl out 'no'

or 'yes' without the slightest change of expression.”

As we landed on the wet marble steps and pa.s.sed into the region of gilded gleams and pearly glints, our hearts began to beat with suppressed excitement, as if we were secret plotters, scheming to carry through some nefarious design.

Immediately on entering, I caught sight of two marble baby lions sitting on their haunches side by side on the floor with ferocious expressions on their little carved faces.

”I must have those for myself,” I murmured to Mr. Barrymore in a painfully monotonous voice, as we pa.s.sed along a narrow aisle between groves of magnificent antique furniture. ”They appeal to me. Fate means us for each other.”

But at this moment an agreeable and well-dressed Italian was bowing before us. He was the proprietor of the antiques, and he looked more like a philanthropic millionaire than a person with whom we could haggle over prices. Without glancing at my lions (I knew they were mine; and wanted them to know it) or Aunt Kathryn's statues and well-heads, Mr.

Barrymore announced that he would glance about at paintings of old Venice. What had Signore Ripollo of that sort? Nothing at present? Dear me, what a pity! Lacquered j.a.panese temples, then? What, none of those?

Very disappointing. Well, we must be going. Hm! not a bad well-head, that one with the procession of the Bucentaur in _bas relief_. Too obviously repaired; still, if Signore Ripollo would take three hundred lire for it, the thing might be worth picking up. And that little pair of lions. Perhaps the ladies might think them good enough to keep a door open with, if they didn't exceed fifteen lire each.

Signore Ripollo looked shocked, but laughed politely. He knew Mr.

Barrymore, and had greeted him on our entrance as an old acquaintance, though, in his exaggerated Italian way, he gave the Chauffeulier a t.i.tle more exalted than Beechy had bestowed.

”Milord will always have his joke; the well-head is two thousand lire; the lions fifty each,” I thought I understood him to remark.

But not at all. Milord was not joking. Would the Signore sell the things for the price mentioned--yes or no?

The philanthropic millionaire showed now that he was hurt. Why did not Milord ask him to give away the whole contents of his shop?

After this the argument began to move at express speed, and I would have lost track of everything had it not been for the gestures, like danger signals, all along the way. Mr. Barrymore laughed; Signore Ripollo pa.s.sed from injured dignity to indignation, then to pa.s.sion; and there we sat on early Renaissance chairs, our outward selves icily regular, splendidly null, our features as hard as those of the stone lions, our bodies in much the same att.i.tudes, on our uncomfortable seats. But inwardly we felt like Torturers of the Inquisition, and I knew by Aunt Kathryn's breathing that she could hardly help exclaiming, ”Oh, _do_ pay the poor man whatever he asks for everything.”

”Will you give five hundred lire for the well-head?” Mr. Barrymore finally demanded, with a reminder of past warnings in his eye.

”Yes,” answered Aunt Kathryn languidly, her hands clenched under a lace boa.

”And will you give twenty lire each for the lions? They are very good.”

(This to me, drawlingly.)

”Ye-es,” I returned, without moving a muscle.

The offers were submitted to Signore Ripollo, who received them with princely scorn, as I had felt sure he would, and my heart sank as I saw my lions vanis.h.i.+ng in the smoke of his just wrath.

”Come, we will go; the Signore is not reasonable,” said Mr. Barrymore.

We all rose obediently, but our anguish was almost past hiding.

”I can't and won't live without the lions,” I remarked in the tone of one who says it is a fine day.

”I will _not_ leave this place without that well-head, the statue of Neptune, and the yellow marble sundial,” said Aunt Kathryn in a casual tone which masked a breaking heart.