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You will find few in Taormina who can the English speak, and none at all who can so perfectly speak it as Frascatti Vietri." "You are wonderful," said Patsy, delighted with him. But Uncle John grew impatient to be off. "I hate to interrupt you, Mr. Vietri," he hinted; "but if you can spare the time we may as well make a start." The driver consented.
And at any rate this is the first time in Italian history when industrial prosperity has so generally reached the workers that they are lifted almost bodily into the middle classes. Then there are the Socialists who emphasize the land question, and they have had smaller success than their industrial brethren. We went one fine day to Frascatti by automobile.
While Ferralti was expressing his astonishment at so "unexpectedly" meeting again his American friends, Uncle John discovered their English speaking cocchiere, Frascatti Vietri, lolling half asleep on the box of his victoria. "Would your energy like to drive us this morning?" he asked. "It is my duty, signore, if you wish to go," was the reply. "Then you are engaged.
"We met the man you call Il Duca, but who told us he was Signor Victor Valdi, on board the ship, where many of the passengers knew my uncle well. If he listened to their conversation he would soon know all about John Merrick, of course." Frascatti wagged his head solemnly. "Then, signorina," he said, still speaking very softly, "I assure you there is no need to worry over your uncle's safety."
I assure you the country is perfectionly safe especial if you stay within the town or take me on your drives. They know me, signore, and even Il Duca dares not trifle with my friends." "Why should he, Frascatti, if there is no brigandage? Is it the Mafia?" "Ah, I have heard that Mafia spoken of, but mostly when I lived in America, which is Chicago. Here we do not know of the Mafia."
I am Frascatti Vietri; perhaps you have heard of me in America?" "If I have it has escaped my memory," said Uncle John, gravely. "Have you been to America?" asked Beth. "Surely, signorina. I lived in Chicago, which, as you are aware, is America. My uncle had a fruit shop in South Water, a via which is Chicago. Is it not so?
"It will not be so in this case," said Beth, indignantly. "I will see the American consul " "I am sorry, but there is none here." "I will telegraph to Messina for the military. They will search the mountains, and bring your brigands to justice." Frascatti smiled sadly. "Oh, yes; perhaps they will come. But the military is Italian not Sicilian and has no experience in these parts.
At the door she blew a kiss to them, and darted away. In the courtyard Frascatti saw her gliding out and discreetly turned his head the other way. Tato took the old road, circling around the theatre and through the narrow, winding streets of the lower town to the Catania Gate. She looked back one or twice, but no one noticed her.
"Tell me, Frascatti," she whispered, "isn't that Il Duca's child? Look that little one standing in the corner?" "Why, yes; it is really Tato," answered the man, before he thought to deny it. "Very well; you may now drive us home," returned Beth, a shade of triumph in her voice.
In the town, however, whither Beth accompanied them, a score of sleepy looking fellows were speedily secured, and under the command of Frascatti, who had resolved to earn his money by energy and good will because there was no chance of success, they marched out of the Catania Gate and scattered along the mountain paths.
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