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Finally she answered brokenly: "I ain'd sit by no vinder for yoost a jessnut maan." This was her way of stimulating his ambition. "Ahaha!" he cried. "You don' know? I'm goin' buy beeg stan'! Candy! Peanut! Banan'! Make some-a-time four dollar a day! 'Tis a greata countra! Bimaby git a store! Ride a buggy! Smoke a cigar! You play piano! Vote a Republican!" "Toby!" "Tis true!"
"Nefer, nefer! you t'ink I'm takin' up mit a hant-orkan maan, Mister Toby?" Whereupon he would carol out the tender taunt, "Ahaha, du libra Ogostine!" "Yoost a hant-orkan maan!" "No! No! No oragan! I am a greata greata merchant. Vote a Republican! Polititshian! To-bigli, Chititzen Republican. Naturalasize! March in a parade!"
Ahaha! du libra Ogostine, Nees coma ross!" Then the eager eyes found their pleasure, for there, in the last line of Pixley's pirates, the very tail of the procession, danced Pietro Tobigli, waving his pink torch at her, proud, happy, triumphant, a true Republican, believing all company equal in the republic, and the rear rank as good as the first. "Vote a Republican!" he shouted.
Because of this mystery, upon which he merrily insisted, she affected a fear that he would some day desert her. "You don' tell me where you lif, I t'ink you goin' ran away of me, Toby. I vake opp some day; git a ledder dod you gone back home by 'Talian lady dod's grazy 'bout you!" "Ahaha! Libra Ogostine, you believe I can make a write weet a pen-a-paper? I don' know that-a how.
"Blame lucky to git Chicago bowl!" "What is that, that campaign?" "Why why, it's the campaign. Workin' up public sentiment; gittin' you boys in line, 'lect-ioneerin' fixin' it right." Tobigli shook his head. "Campaign?" he repeated. "Why Gee, you know! Free beer, cigars, speakin', handshaking, paradin' " "Ahaha!" The merchant sprang to his feet with a shout. "Yes! Hoor-r-ra! Vote a Republican!
So it befell that Bertha was fascinated; that, blushing, she laughed back to him, and was nothing offended when, at his first sight of her, he rippled out at once into "Ahaha, du libra Ogostine." Then extraordinary things happened to the English language. "I ain'd nefer can like no foreigner!" she often joked back to a question of his.
Ahaha, du libra Ogostine, Nees coma ross." The acquaintance, begun by the song and Pietro's wonderful laugh, had grown tender. The chestnut vender had a way with him; he looked like the "Neapolitan Fisher Lad" of the chromos, and you could have fancied him of two centuries ago, putting a rose in his hair; even as it was, he had the ear-rings.
Bertha's eyes had not rested upon Toby where they innocently sought him, in the front ranks, even scanning the carriages, seeking him in all positions which she conceived as highest in honour, and she would have missed him altogether, had not there reached her, out of chaotic clamours, a clear, high, rollicking tenor: "Ahaha! du libra Ogostine, Ogostine, Ogostine!
"Hello, boys," the committee-man called out with automatic geniality, as he descended the broken steps. "How are ye? All here? That's good; that's the stuff! Good work!" Only Toby replied with more than an indifferent grunt; but he ran forward, carrying an empty beer keg which he placed as a seat for the guest. "Ahaha, Meesa Peeslay! Make a parade? Torchlight? Bandaplay ta ra, la la la? Firework?
"Democrat!" shouted the chestnut vender triumphantly. "No, sir! Yoost politigs," replied the unpartisan Bertha. "You keeb oud politigs." "Ahaha, du libra Ogostine, Ogostine, Ogostine! Ahaha, du libra Ogostine, Nees coma ross."
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