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"Vengo da Roma" replied the boy, drawing himself up proudly. "The Roman peasant is a prince, mamma," said Eve quickly, in an undertone. Luigi glanced up instantly and smiled, and offered to her a little plaster cherub, silver-gilt, just spreading wings for flight. "It is for her," said he, with an appealing look at the mother. "For her, la principessina. I myself made it."
He caught it in its fall, fixing her again after she had watched him place it in his buttonhole. "Come down quickly!" he said in an Italian not loud but deep. "Vengo, vengo!" she as clearly, but more lightly, tossed out; and she had left him the next minute to wait for her.
But a truce to these frivolities! The little Italian boy next door calls me to play ball with him, with a green lemon from the garden. Vengo, Luigi, vengo! I return at once to the realities of life, and dismiss such shadows. A sportive friend of mine, a mighty golfer, is fond of saying, "You Radicals want to play the game without the rules."
He caught it in its fall, fixing her again after she had watched him place it in his buttonhole. "Come down quickly!" he said in an Italian not loud but deep. "Vengo, vengo!" she as clearly, but more lightly, tossed out; and she had left him the next minute to wait for her.
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