"I hope not," Angioletto took him up; "because I have done with poetising and have a mind to try your trade."
Beppo, his mouth full of onion, paused in his bite to gape at this dapper page, who, all scarlet and white as he was, talked after such a fashion.
"How'll that be now?" he said. "You've never come all this way to crack a joke?"
"Ah, never in the world, my friend," cried Angioletto. "I am in earnest."
"You may be as earnest as a friar in the pulpit, and yet pretty bad at chimney-work, young master. What do you know of it, pray?"
"Nothing at all," replied Angioletto, as if that helped him.
"Look at that now," cried the triumphant Sor Beppo.
"Pardon me, Master Beppo," said the youth, "you cannot look at it yet, but you very soon shall. Have you a chimney to hand?"
"Ah, I might have that," the old man agreed, with a chuckle which ended as a snort. "There might be a chimney in my house that's not been swept for thirty year, having little time and less inclination to sweep 'em for nothing but glory. But, happen there were such a piece of work, what then?"
Angioletto pointed into the house. "Is that the chimney, Beppo?"
Beppo nodded. "That might be the chimney in question, my gentleman."
With a "By your leave, Sor Beppo," Angioletto stepped delicately into the room. He threw down cloak and cap, unstrapped girdle and hanger,
