It
was propelled by a slender, graceful, olive-skinned man, who, beholding
Spike, flashed two rows of brilliant teeth and halted his barrow beside
the curb.
"How goes it, Tony?" questioned Spike, whereat the young Italian smiled,
and thereafter sighed and shook his head.
"Da beezeneez-a ver' good," he sighed, "da peanut-a sell-a all-a da
time! But my lil' Pietro he sick, he no da same since his moder die-a,
me no da same--have-a none of da luck--noding--nix!"
"Hard cheese, Tony!" quoth Spike. "But say, have you seen th' Spider
kickin' around?"
"No, I ain't! But you tell-a da Signorina--"
"Sure I will--"
"My lil' Pietro he love-a da Signorina; me, I love-a her--she so good,
so generosa, ah, yes!" And taking off his hat in one hand, Tony kissed
the other and waved it gracefully in the air.
"Right-o, Tony!" nodded Spike. "You can let it go at that. An' say--this
is me friend Geoff."
Tony gripped Mr. Ravenslee's hand and shook it.
"You one o' da bunch--one o' da boys, hey? Good-a luck." So saying, Tony
nodded, flashed his white teeth again, and seizing the handles of his
barrow, trundled off his peanut oven, whistling soft and shrill.
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