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"Who talka da lions?" cried a grim voice, and, turning, Owen pretended to see for the first time a short, heavy set man of the gypsy type, seated on a box at the stable door smoking a cigarette and evidently regarding all the world as the object of his personal hate. "Why, who is that man?" asked Owen of the groom in a tone of condescending interest. "Where have I seen him before?"
"He talka oh, mocha he talka," observed Beppo, holding the cages on high with a prideful air. "An' he pussa ver' fine, yes." "Well, girls, which do you like the better?" said the captain. "I know it's the thing to give presents to out-going travelers, and I want to do everything shipshape. But flowers are a nuisance the second day out, and fruit a drug, so I thought a pet was the thing.
We have had a jolly little dinner and a jolly little talk." I seem to hear the old fellow's voice now, with its quaint accent, the "jollia leetle dinnera" and the "jol-lia leetle talka," with his half-childish-sounding vowel at the end of almost every word. Poor old Ruffiano! He has seen the end of his trouble this many and many a year.
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