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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Not the banker in this hotel?" inquired the poet, with some eagerness. "That's the man," answered the courier. "Does it pay well?" asked the troubadour innocently. "It will pay me," said Ezza, with a very enigmatic smile. "But I am a rather curious sort of courier." Then, as if changing the subject, he said abruptly: "He has a daughter and a son."
Miss Harrogate was specially radiant and ready for conversation on this occasion; and her family had fallen into the easier Continental habit, allowing the stranger Muscari and even the courier Ezza to share their table and their talk. In Ethel Harrogate conventionality crowned itself with a perfection and splendour of its own.
"This," answered Ezza gravely, "is not the costume of an Englishman, but of the Italian of the future." "In that case," remarked Muscari, "I confess I prefer the Italian of the past." "That is your old mistake, Muscari," said the man in tweeds, shaking his head; "and the mistake of Italy.
He's not clever, he's got eyes like blue buttons; he's not energetic, he moves from chair to chair like a paralytic. He's a conscientious, kindly old blockhead; but he's got money simply because he collects money, as a boy collects stamps. You're too strong-minded for business, Ezza. You won't get on. To be clever enough to get all that money, one must be stupid enough to want it."
Muscari had known him last behind the footlights; he was but too well attuned to the excitements of that profession, and it was believed that some moral calamity had swallowed him up. "Ezza!" cried the poet, rising and shaking hands in a pleasant astonishment. "Well, I've seen you in many costumes in the green room; but I never expected to see you dressed up as an Englishman."
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