The Call of the Blood

That was her farewell and his--this rustic Hero's good-bye to her

Leander.

When he reached the Caffè Berardi its door stood open, and a middle-aged

woman was looking out seaward. Beyond, by the caves, he saw figures

moving. His companions were awake. He hastened towards them. His morning

plunge in the sea had given him a wild appetite.

"Frittura! Frittura!" he shouted, taking off his hat and waving it.

Gaspare came running towards him.

"Where have you been, signorino?"

"For a walk along the shore."

He still kept his hat in his hand.

"Why, your face is all wet, and so is your hair."

"I washed them in the sea. Mangiamo! Mangiamo!"

"You did not sleep?"

Gaspare spoke curiously, regarded him with inquisitive, searching eyes.

"I couldn't. I'll sleep up there when we get home."

He pointed to the mountain. His eyes were dancing with gayety.

"The frittura, Gasparino, the frittura! And then the tarantella, and then

'O sole mio'!"

He looked towards the rising sun, and began to sing at the top of his

voice: "O sole, o sole mio,

Sta 'n fronte a te,

Sta 'n fronte a te!"

Gaspare joined in lustily, and Carmela in the doorway of the Caffè

Berardi waved a frying-pan at them in time to the music.

"Per Dio, Gaspare!" exclaimed Maurice, as they raced towards the house,

each striving to be first there--"Per Dio, I never knew what life was

till I came to Sicily! I never knew what happiness was till this

morning!"

"The frittura! The frittura!" shouted Gaspare. "I'll be first!"

Neck and neck they reached the caffè as Nito poured the shining fish into

Madre Carmela's frying-pan.