"Yes, you make the prices. Per Bacco, how hot it is!"
Maurice pulled his hat down over his eyes.
"Maddalena, you'll get a sunstroke!" he said.
"Oh no, signore. I am accustomed to the sun."
"But to-day it's terrific!"
Indeed, the masses of stones in the watercourse seemed to draw and to
concentrate the sun-rays. The air was alive with minute and dancing
specks of light, and in the distance, seen under the railway bridge, the
sea looked hot, a fiery blue that was surely sweating in the glare of the
afternoon. The crowd of donkeys, of cattle, of pigs--there were many pigs
on sale--looked both dull and angry in the heat, and the swarms of
Sicilians who moved slowly about among them, examining them critically,
appraising their qualities and noting their defects, perspired in their
festa clothes, which were mostly heavy and ill-adapted to summer-time. A
small boy passed by, bearing in his arms a struggling turkey. He caught
his foot in some stones, fell, bruised his forehead, and burst out
crying, while the indignant and terrified bird broke away, leaving some
feathers, and made off violently towards Etna. There was a roar of
laughter from the people near. Some ran to catch the turkey, others
picked up the boy. Salvatore had stopped to see this adventure, and was
now at a little distance surrounded by the Catanesi, who were evidently
determined to assist at his bidding for a donkey. The sight of the note
for a hundred lire had greatly increased their respect for Salvatore, and
with the Sicilian instinct to go, and to stay, where money is, they now
kept close to their comrade, eying him almost with awe as one in
possession of a fortune. Maurice saw them presently examining a group of
donkeys. Salvatore, with an autocratic air, and the wild gestures
peculiar to him, was evidently laying down the law as to what each animal
was worth. The fishermen stood by, listening attentively. The fact of
Salvatore's purchasing power gave him the right to pronounce an opinion.
He was in glory. Maurice thanked Heaven for that. The man in glory is
often the forgetful man. Salvatore, he thought, would not bother about
his daughter and his banker for a little while. But how to get rid of
Gaspare and Amedeo! It seemed to him that they would never leave his
side.
There were many wooden stands covered with goods for sale in the
watercourse, with bales of stuff for suits and dresses, with hats and
caps, shirts, cravats, boots and shoes, walking-sticks, shawls, household
utensils, crockery, everything the contadino needs and loves. Gaspare,
having money to lay out, considered it his serious duty to examine
everything that was to be bought with slow minuteness. It did not matter
whether the goods were suited to a masculine taste or not. He went into
the mysteries of feminine attire with almost as much assiduity as a
mother displays when buying a daughter's trousseau, and insisted upon
Maurice sharing his interest and caution. All sense of humor, all boyish
sprightliness vanished from him in this important epoch of his life. The
suspicion, the intensity of the bargaining contadino came to the surface.
His usually bright face was quite altered. He looked elderly, subtle, and
almost Jewish as he slowly passed from stall to stall, testing, weighing,
measuring, appraising.