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Updated: May 22, 2025
A long knife flashed in Ristofalo's right hand. He stood holding the rope in his left, stooping slightly forward, and darting his eyes about as if selecting a victim for his weapon. A stranger touched Richling from behind, spoke a hurried word in Italian, and handed him a huge dirk. But in that same moment the affair was over.
It was far on in the afternoon before the wary Ristofalo ventured to offer all he had in his pocket to a hanger-on of the prison office, to go first to Richling's house, and then to an acquaintance of his own, with messages looking to the procuring of their release. The messenger chose to go first to Ristofalo's friend, and afterward to Mrs. Riley's.
He turned his thoughts to Ristofalo. This was a common habit with him. Not only in thought, but in person, he hovered with a positive infatuation about this man of perpetual success. Lately the Italian had gone out of town, into the country of La Fourche, to buy standing crops of oranges. Richling fed his hope on the possibilities that might follow Ristofalo's return.
Ristofalo regained his financial feet almost, as one might say, at a single hand-spring. He amused Mary and John and Mrs. Riley almost beyond limit with his simple story of how he did it. "Ye'd better hurry and be getting up out o' that sick bed, Mr. Richlin'," said the widow, in Ristofalo's absence, "or that I-talian rascal'll be making himself entirely too agree'ble to yer lady here. Ha! ha!
Needless to say that Ristofalo's Kate, instructed by her husband, imported the earliest and many a later invoice of them, and distributing her peddlers at choice thronging-places, "everlastin'ly," as she laughingly and confidentially informed Dr. Sevier, "raked in the sponjewlicks." They were exposed for sale on little stalls on populous sidewalks and places of much entry and exit.
The narrator sparkled and glowed as he told of Ristofalo's appearance, and reproduced his speeches and manner. "Tell about the apples and eggs," said the delighted Mary. He did so, sitting on the front edge of his chair-seat, and sprawling his legs now in front and now behind him as he swung now around to his wife and now to the Doctor.
Half an hour later twenty-five cents had changed hands, the Catalan's fruit shelves were bright with small pyramids sound side foremost of Ristofalo's second grade of apples, the Sicilian had Richling's dollar, and the Italian was gone with his boys and his better grade of fruit. Also, a grocer had sold some sugar, and a druggist a little paper of some harmless confectioner's dye.
See Garibaldi: despising the restraints of law; careless of the simplest conventionalities that go to make up an honest gentleman; doing both right and wrong like a lion; everything in him leonine. All this was in Ristofalo's reach. It was all beyond Richling's. Which was best, the capability or the incapability? It was a question he would have liked to ask Mary.
"Or-r righ'," said the store-keeper, with a hand-wave of good-natured confidence. He recognized Mr. Raphael Ristofalo's species. The Italian walked up across Poydras street, saw Richling stop and look at the machinery, approached, and touched him on the shoulder. On parting with him he did not return to the store where he had left the apples.
"You'll tell me your good news if it's only that I may tell her, will you not?" "I will. And it's joost this, Mr. Richlin', that if there be's a war Mr. Ristofalah's to be lit out o' prison." "I'm very glad!" cried Richling, but stopped short, for Mrs. Ristofalo's growing dignity indicated that there was more to be told. "I'm sure ye air, Mr.
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