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Livio burst into a studied and insulting shout of laughter, stopped abruptly without remembering to bring it to a proper finish, and began to be pleasant to the embroidery-seller, speaking broken American English with a strong nasal twang. "My name is Livio Ceresole. Bin in America; the States. All over the place. Chicago, 'Frisco, Pullman cars, dollars you know. Learnt Engliss there.
When he lost, he swore softly to himself: "Dio mio, mio Dio, Dio mio," and then turned courteously to the embroidery-seller, who was English, with a free interpretation "In Engliss, bai George." This seemed to the embroidery-seller to be true politeness in misfortune. The beautiful youth seemed to be a person of many languages; his most frequent interjection was, "Dio mio Holy Moses oh hang!"
There was something about the embroidery-seller that drew these casual friendships readily to him; he was engaging, with a great innocence of aspect and gentleness of demeanour, and a friendly smile that sweetened the world, and a lovable gift of amusement. He had been wandering on this shore for now six months, and had friends in most of the towns.
Very fine country; I should smile." He did so, and looked so amiable and so engaging that the embroidery-seller smiled back, thinking what a beautiful person he was. He had the petulant, half sensuous, spoilt-boy beauty of a young Antinuous, with a rakish touch added by the angle of his hat and his snappy American idioms. So it came about that those two threw in their lots for a time.
From Varenzano on this festa day in the golden afternoon the embroidery-seller and his donkey-cart and his small son and his yellow dog and Livio Ceresole walked to Castoleto. Livio, who had a sweet voice, sang snatches of melody in many languages; doggerel songs, vulgarities from musical comedies, melodies of the street corner; and the singer's voice redeemed and made music of them all.
After which he would add an apology, addressed to the embroidery-seller, who had a certain air of refined innocence, "Bestemmiar, no. Brutto bestemmiare. Non gli piace, no," and resume his game. Peter, who was selling embroidery, liked him so much that he followed him when he went to try his luck at the cigar game.
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