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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Si, Signore." Pasqualino cracked his whip vigorously. "Ah ah! Ah ah!" he cried to his gayly bedizened little horse, who wore a long feather on his head, flanked by bunches of artificial roses. "Not too fast, Pasqualino. I am in no hurry. Keep along by the sea."
He flourished his plump, brown, and carefully washed hands. "I have a new ring." He bent his head. "My hat is new." Artois broke into a roar of laughter that seemed to do him good after his days of work. "You young dandy! And where do you get the money?" Pasqualino looked doleful and hung his head. "Signore, I am in debt.
On the opposite side of the road was a smart little carriage in which the coachman was asleep, with his legs cocked up on the driver's seat, displaying a pair of startling orange-and-black socks. By the socks Artois knew his man. "Pasqualino! Pasqualino!" he cried. The coachman sprang up, showing a round, rosy face, and a pair of shrewd, rather small dark eyes. "Take me to Posilipo."
Artois hesitated, passing in mental review the various ristoranti on the hill. "Take me to the Ristorante della Stella," he said, at length. Pasqualino cracked his whip, and drove once more merrily onward.
And to Artois, sedentary for so long, the sight of them brought a feeling almost of triumph, but also a sensation of envy. Their vigor made him pine for movement. "Drive on slowly, Pasqualino," he said. "I will follow you on foot, and join you at the hill." "Si Signore." He got out, stood for a moment, then strolled on towards the Mergellina.
The coachman let the reins go loose, and instantly the little horse went slowly, as if all his spirit and agility had suddenly been withdrawn from him. "I have not seen you for several days, Signore. Have you been ill?" Pasqualino had turned quite round on his box, and was facing his client. "No, I've been working." "Si?"
But I say to myself, 'Thank the Madonna, I have a rich and generous Padrone who wishes his coachman to be chic. When he sees my clothes he will be contented, and who knows what he will do?" "Per Bacco! And who is this rich and generous Signore?" "Ma!" Pasqualino passionately flung out the ringed hand that was not holding the reins "Ma! you, Signore." "You young rascal!
Pasqualino made a grimace, as he nearly always did when he heard a rich Signore speak of working. "And you? You have been spending money as usual. All your clothes are new." Pasqualino smiled, showing rows of splendid teeth under his little twisted-up mustache. "Si, Signore, all! And I have also new underclothing." "Per Bacco!" "Ecco, Signore!"
Ruffo and Gaspare strolled slowly away towards the jetty where the yachts lie, and presently disappeared. Artois found Pasqualino waiting for him rather impatiently not far from the entrance to the Scoglio di Frisio. "I thought you were dead, Signore," he remarked, as Artois came up. "I was watching the people." He got into the carriage.
"They are canaglia," said Pasqualino, with the profound contempt of the Neapolitan coachman for those who get their living by the sea. He lived at Fuorigrotta, and thought Mergellina a place of outer darkness. "I like them," returned Artois. "You don't know them, Signore. I say they are canaglia. Where shall I drive you?"
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