The Dodge Club Part 34

"Hm," said the Senator, with some displeasure; "and he has no soul then to see the--the beauty, the sentiment, the grandeur of his vocation!"

"Not a bit--he only goes in for money."

The Senator turned away in disgust. "Yankee Doodle," he murmured, "ought of itself to have a refining and converting influence on the European mind; but it is too debased--yes--yes--too debased."

CHAPTER XXII.

HOW A BARGAIN IS MADE.--THE WILES OF THE ITALIAN TRADESMAN.--THE NAKED SULKY BEGGAR, AND THE JOVIAL WELL-CLAD BEGGAR.--WHO IS THE KING OF BEGGARS?

"What are you thinking about, b.u.t.tons?"

"Well, d.i.c.k, to tell the truth, I have been thinking that if I do find the Spaniards they won't have reason to be particularly proud of me as a companion. Look at me."

"I look, and to be frank, my dear boy, I must say that you look more shabby-genteel than otherwise."

"That's the result of travelling on one suit of clothes--without considering fighting. I give up my theory."

"Give it up, then, and come out as a b.u.t.terfly."

"Friend of my soul, the die is cast. Come forth with me and seek a clothing-store."

It was not difficult to find one. They entered the first one that they saw. The polite Roman overwhelmed them with attention.

"Show me a coat, Signore."

Signore sprang nimbly at the shelves and brought down every coat in his store. b.u.t.tons picked out one that suited his fancy, and tried it on.

"What is the price?"

With a profusion of explanation and description the Roman informed him: "Forty piastres."

"I'll give you twelve," said b.u.t.tons, quietly.

The Italian smiled, put his head on one side, drew down the corners of his mouth, and threw up his shoulders. This is the _shrug_. The shrug requires special attention. The shrug is a gesture used by the Latin race for expressing a mult.i.tude of things, both objectively and subjectively. It is a language of itself. It is, as circ.u.mstances require, a noun, adverb, p.r.o.noun, verb, adjective, preposition, interjection, conjunction. Yet it does not supersede the spoken language. It comes in rather when spoken words are useless, to convey intensity of meaning or delicacy. It is not taught, but it is learned.

The coa.r.s.er, or at least blunter, Teutonic race have not cordially adopted this mode of human intercommunication. The advantage of the shrug is that in one slight gesture it contains an amount of meaning which otherwise would require many words. A good shrugger in Italy is admired, just as a good conversationist is in England, or a good stump orator in America. When the merchant shrugged, b.u.t.tons understood him and said:

"You refuse? Then I go. Behold me!"

"Ah, Signore, how can you thus endeavor to take advantage of the necessities of the poor?"

"Signore, I must buy according to my ability."

The Italian laughed long and quietly. The idea of an Englishman or American not having much money was an exquisite piece of humor.

"Go not, Signore. Wait a little. Let me unfold more garments. Behold this, and this. You shall have many of my goods for twelve piastres."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Shrug.]

"No, Signore; I must have this, or I will have none."

"You are very hard, Signore. Think of my necessities. Think of the pressure of this present war, which we poor miserable tradesmen feel most of all."

"Then addio, Signore; I must depart."

They went out and walked six paces.

"P-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-t!" (Another little idea of the Latin race. It is a much more penetrating sound than a loud Hallo! Ladies can use it.

Children too. This would be worth importing to America.)

"P-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-t!"

b.u.t.tons and d.i.c.k turned. The Italian stood smiling and bowing and beckoning.

"Take it for twenty-four piastres."

"No, Signore; I can only pay twelve."

With a gesture of ruffled dignity the shopkeeper withdrew. Again they turned away. They had scarcely gone ten paces before the shop-keeper was after them:

"A thousand pardons. But I have concluded to take twenty."

"No; twelve, and no more."

"But think, Signore; only think."

"I do think, my friend; I do think."

"Say eighteen."

"No, Signore."

"Seventeen."

"Twelve."

"Here. Come back with me."

They obeyed. The Italian folded the coat neatly, tied it carefully, stroked the parcel tenderly, and with a meek yet sad smile handed it to b.u.t.tons.

"There--only sixteen piastres."