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They loved him, too, if such a thing were possible, as Fra Diavolo was loved by his wild followers. His band was known as the "Dog-Soldiers"; a sort of a semi-military organization, consisting of the most daring, blood-thirsty young men of the tribe; and sometimes "squaw-men," that is, renegade white men married to squaws, attached themselves to his command of cut-throats.
For about a week, the twins "lay low." The tutor had found it absolutely impossible to teach Diavolo anything. The boy was perfectly docile. He would sit with his bright eyes riveted on his master's face, listening with might and main apparently; but at the end of every explanation the tutor found the same thing. Diavolo never had the faintest idea of what he had been talking about.
"A splendid bit!" ejaculated St. John; "touched in with freedom, a grand tournure, great gout in the swell of the neck. What a study for Retsch!" "In the name of the Graces, who is it, mio Santo?" "Ay! name la bellissima Signora." "The 'fine bit, St. John, is my sister." "The devil!" "Diavolo!" "Will you introduce us, most holy man?"
But my scientific labor is to lead to useful results by and by, in the next generation, or in some possible remote future. "Diavolo!" as your Dr. Rabelais has it, answers the iconoclast, "what is that to me and my colic, to me and my strangury? I pay the Captain of the Cunard steamship to carry me quickly and safely to Liverpool, not to make a chart of the Atlantic for after voyagers!
"It is dishonourable to read other people's letters," Mr. Ellis admonished them severely when he became aware of this peculiarity. "It isn't for us," Angelica answered defiantly. "You might as well say its dishonourable to squint. We've always done it, and everybody knows we do it. We warn them not to leave their letters lying about, don't we, Diavolo?"
The tutor's strong but careworn face flushed sensitively; but he only answered with a deprecating gesture. "Then how old is Diavolo?" Mr. Kilroy pursued absently. "About the same age," Mr. Hamilton-Wells replied, without moving a muscle of his face. Lady Adeline looked puzzled: "Of course they are the same age," she said, as if the point could be disputed. Mr.
Evadne did not understand, so Angelica kindly explained: "You see, I'm the eldest, but Diavolo's a boy, so he gets the property because of the entail, and we neither of us think it fair; so we fight for it, and whichever wins is to have it. I won the last battle, so it's mine just now; but Diavolo may win it back if we fight again before papa dies. That's why he wants to fight now, I expect."
"If we taught ourselves to be happy in this world, we should grow to love it too much, and then we should not strive to win the next." "And that would impoverish the Church?" Diavolo suggested. "But why not let us be happy, and you raise money in some other way?" Angelica wanted to know. "Miracles now I should try some miracles; a miracle must be much better than a bazaar to raise the funds."
"No, I am reading a key to 'Euripides," Diavolo answered, "Don't you know your Greek, sir?" his grandfather demanded. "I'm just looking to see, sir," Diavolo rejoined, returning to his book. When he had finished the page, he looked up at his grandfather, who was sitting with his hands folded upon a large volume he held open on his knee, meditating, apparently.
He caused the announcement to be cancelled, and handsomely indemnified the various charities named to be recipients of the possible proceeds. Diavolo did not much mind. He was prepared to do all that Angelica required of him, but when the necessity was removed he acknowledged that it would have been rather a bore, and afterward spoke disrespectfully of the whole project as "The Condemned Sell."
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