age of thirty years. No, he decided, the pursuit of Tommie Powell couldn't be classed as idiocy. It was far more important to him than anything else. The movements of a steamship or the acquisition of a dull gold box that had been the cause of a Kentucky feud were all mere incidentals. He would miss the sight of his ship lying off there in the mouth of the Giudecco when he emerged by mornings from the Hotel Danieli, but the pang would be small in comparison with missing the sight of his family enemy on any morning of any week.
“We'll let it go at that, Barton,” he said, resuming his habitual attitude. “You've got your orders and understand?”
“Yes, sir. I've got 'em. We're to take the contract and I'm to lay off until the last minute; then, if you don't come aboard, I'm to go to Spalato and”
“That's it. Maybe I'll come and maybe I shan't. That depends. Anyhow, carry on as if I weren't coming. So long.”
He turned and walked back to the hotel entrance, observing as he did so that the guide Giuseppe had put in an appearance and with a palpably evident pretense of absorption was staring at a weather-beaten amusement notice tacked to a hotel bill-board. Just at that moment, with an air of prodigious importance, Pietro walked out of the hotel and waved his hand with something of condescension to his friend Giuseppe, caught sight of Jimmy, and suddenly frowned. Jimmy was secretly amused at the boyish fervor of the young poet-guide and would have passed him had not Pietro, as if come to a sudden resolve, checked his progress.
“Signor,” he said in his fluent but staccato English, “you are accompanying my lady this afternoon when she makes purchases for the decoration of her launch for the water parade of the Féte of the Rendetori, are you not?”
“Yes, I have been honored by an invitation. Why?” Jimmy asked, staring down at the handsome youngster who seemed perpetually and terribly in earnest.
For a moment Pietro appeared at a loss and then asked, “Would you perhaps care to go with me to-night to see one of the quaintest of Venetian ceremonies, but one in which, I fear, the signorina would not be interested?”
Jimmy asked, almost disinterestedly, “What is this—er—ceremony?”
“It is what is known as the midnight meeting of the Fratelli Nero,” Pietro explained. “You have heard of the Misericordi?—well, this is a similar organization and confined to our most noble city. You will be interested, signor, I promise.”
“All right,” said Jimmy, “I'll come.”
“Just a moment more, signor.” Pietro stopped him as he was about to move away. Coming closer to confidential range the guide added, “And I suggest that you tell no one of our proposed excursion, because it might get me into trouble among some of the Venetians and a word dropped anywhere in Venice is no longer unspoken, for it becomes a butterfly with swiftly beating wings.”
Jimmy laughed and said, “Oh, that'll be all right. I'll tell no one,”
“Not even the signorina?” Pietro insisted with absurd apprehensions.
“No, not any one,” Jimmy asserted, smiling as he turned away. “Beginning to show his true colors. Just like all of the guide fraternity. Wants to make me think I'm getting some treat so rare and so seldom privileged that I'll be there with the big liberal fee when the time comes for settlement.”
In the pleasure of the afternoon he forgot his proposed trip and assisted in working out a wonderful scheme for the decoration of the launch. He even contributed with some rather reckless purchasing on his own behalf, and bought a complete set of storage batteries for special illumination, declaring that the launch would prove unworthy of its owner unless illuminated with more lights than could be provided from its permanent batteries.
“But you see, Mr. Ware, how do you know I wish to have so many lights?” his companion objected. “Perhaps—maybe I'd rather have no lights at all, on that night.”
Puzzled, he turned and looked at her and saw that she was frowning, perplexed and serious.
“Why?” he insisted, wondering at the change that had so abruptly come over her.
To his further mystification she answered, “I'd rather not tell you.”
His disappointment was so obvious that she immediately displayed a wish to placate him. She turned, glanced about to see that Pietro was not too close and no others observing, and laid a hand on his sleeve.
“I'll tell you why,” she said. “The night
