Gaspare at once took charge of the proceedings as one born to be a leader
of fishermen. He began by ordering wine to be poured into the one glass
provided, placed it in Maurice's hand, and smiled proudly at his pupil's
quick "Alla vostra salute!" before tossing it off. Then each one in turn,
with an "Alla sua salute!" to Maurice, took a drink from the great,
leather bottle; and Nito, shaking out his long coil of net, declared that
it was time to get to work.
Gaspare cast a sly glance at Maurice, warning him to be prepared for a
comedy, and Maurice at once remembered the scene on the terrace when
Gaspare had described Nito's "birbante" character, and looked out for
rheumatics.
"Who goes into the sea, Nito?" asked Gaspare, very seriously.
Nito's wrinkled and weather-beaten face assumed an expression of
surprise.
"Who goes into the sea!" he ejaculated. "Why, don't we all know who likes
wading, and can always tell the best places for the fish?"
He paused, then as Gaspare said nothing, and the others, who had received
a warning sign from him, stood round with deliberately vacant faces, he
added, clapping Gaspare on the shoulder, and holding out one end of the
net: "Off with your clothes, compare, and we will soon have a fine frittura
for Carmela."
But Gaspare shook his head.
"In summer I don't mind. But this is early in the year, and, besides--"
"Early in the year! Who told me the signore distinto would--"
"And besides, compare, I've got the stomach-ache."
He deftly doubled himself up and writhed, while the lips of the others
twitched with suppressed amusement.
"Comparedro, I don't believe it!"
"Haven't I, signorino?" cried Gaspare, undoubling himself, pointing to
his middleman, and staring hard at Maurice.
"Si, si! È vero, è vero!" cried Maurice.
"I've been eating Zampaglione, and I am full. If I go into the sea
to-night I shall die."
"Mamma mia!" ejaculated Nito, throwing up his hands towards the stars.
He dared not give the lie to the "signore distinto," yet he had no trust
in Gaspare's word, and had gained no sort of conviction from his eloquent
writhings.
"You must go in, Nito," said Gaspare.
"I--Madonna!"
"Why not?"
"Why not?" cried Nito, in a plaintive whine that was almost feminine. "I
go into the sea with my rheumatism!"
Abruptly one of his legs gave way, and he stood before them in a crooked
attitude.