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Updated: May 19, 2025
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.
But why, this is the drollest" He stopped short, for the Italian's gravity indicated his opinion that there had been enough amusement shown. "Yes, she's well, thank you. By-the-by, what do you think of my letting her come out here now and begin life over again? Doesn't it seem to you it's high time, if we're ever going to do it at all?" "What you think?" asked Ristofalo.
"Don't I tell you?" said the Italian to Richling, as they were walking away together. "Bound to have war; is already begin-n." "It began with me the day I got married," said Richling. Ristofalo waited some time, and then asked: "How?" "I shouldn't have said so," replied Richling; "I can't explain." "Thass all right," said the other. And, a little later: "Smith Izard call' you by name.
Riley, by prolonged effort, convinced her it was best not to call upon Dr. Sevier until she could be sure some disaster had actually occurred, and sent her among the fruiterers and oystermen in vain search for Raphael Ristofalo. Thus it was that the Doctor's morning messenger to the Richlings, bearing word that if any one were sick he would call without delay, was met by Mrs.
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!
His words were low, but very distinct. Thereupon Richling laughed, leaning his cheek against the post. "Must provide for the present," said Raphael Ristofalo. Richling dropped his eyes in thought. The present!
"Aw righ'." The Italian took her hand for the third time and held it, standing in his simple square way before her and wearing his gentle smile as he looked her in the eye. "Good-by, Kate." Her eye quailed. Her hand pulled a little helplessly and in a meek voice she said: "That's not right for you to do me that a-way, Mr. Ristofalo. I've got a handle to my name, sur."
But she: "Ah! it's no use fur you to be a-talkin' an' a-pallaverin' to Kate Riley when ye don't be lovin' her, Mr. Ristofalo, an' ye know ye don't." A tear glistened in her eye. "Yes, love you," said the Italian; "course, love you." He did not move a foot or change the expression of a feature. "H-yes!" said the widow. "H-yes!" she panted. "H-yes, a little! A little, Mr. Ristofalo!
"Where have you been all day?" asked the Doctor, with a touch of irritation. "Getting Kate Ristofalo ready to leave the city." "You shouldn't have left the house; but it's no use to tell you anything. Has she gone?" "No." "Well, in the name of common-sense, then, when is she going?" "In two or three days," replied Richling, almost in retort. The Doctor laughed with impatience.
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