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"Boss think-a me there," he sneered. "Boss easy guy. Morani's orchestra, he say. Morani here." He struck himself dramatically on the chest. "Not so easy maybe, boss ain't," Koppy shook a doubting head. "Big and strong and and thick here," touching his head. "Maybe I don't know."
The orchestra Chico Morani, a mere Dago bohunk himself, had organised among the men, burst afresh. And every other sound ceased. Even the gambling groups out before the camp paused to listen. "Morani's started on the second number, Tressa. Thank Heaven he has one redeeming feature, if he is a Wop." "This isn't your loving night, daddy. It must be my cooking "
The cachet of Na Morani had been rather spoilt by the erection of a little church some time in the ninth century, perhaps by Wenceslaus himself. Anyway, the pious prince found this church a convenient half-way house between Vyšehrad and Hradšany, and he was wont to put up a prayer or two here before going on to drop a tear on the Hradšany relics.
As I came along, I met Paolo, the olive-merchant, who offered me a franc more a sack than he did to any one else, because he knows our olives are of a superior quality." Signora Martina smiled rather a grim smile at this compliment to her olives. "But I told him," went on Doctor Morani, with a certain look of pride, "that we were not going to sell; we intended to make oil for ourselves.
"Time wasn't hanging about loose when he let drive," grinned Lefty Werner. "Mr. Conrad took your knife, Koppy," soothed Heppel. "You couldn't." Morani, unobserved, had drawn from some hidden part of him a long stiletto and was whetting it slowly on the palm of his hand. Fascinated, they watched. "We were a hundred to two," reflected Koppy in a low voice; and his eyes were puzzled.
When it was repeated he jerked his head nervously, stared for an appreciable moment at an upper corner of the room, gripped his fists and teeth, and whispered a soft response. Werner's head appeared in the window space, smiled, pushed through, followed by a scrambling body. After him came Morani, Heppel, and eighteen villainous-looking companions.
"I do it I, the president of the Independent Workers of the World." "All right, old cock, but what do you do?" "The orchestra." Morani waved a satisfied hand toward the music. "It play. No come-a to meeting." "Can't say I'm sorry," muttered Werner under his breath. "Men many men they play cards where boss can see," said Heppel, mildly chiding the lack of faith in his fellow-conspirator.
"You had better hope she will get well," observed the Doctor, coolly; "for if she should happen to die, my good Pasqualina, it would be very possible that your father and brother might be sent to the galleys." Here Pasqualina set up a howl. "Do not afflict yourself just now," resumed Doctor Morani; "for, with all their good-will, they have not quite killed the woman.
I resign in favour of Chico." "I need Morani." "Not half as bad as I do, pompous one. Look here, old chap, this is a big job, ain't it, a real big thing?" "Perhaps the end of everything," agreed the underforeman solemnly. "That's why I'm not hankering for it," said Werner under his breath.
You remember that I have pointed out the place to you; I can just see it from the terrace with its twin towers of raw sienna tone. I also told you about the heathen burial ground, Na Morani, about the Church of St. Cosmas and Damian, and how St. Wenceslaus worshipped at their shrine.
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