you can see Pawp nice w'en 'e come. I 'ave arrive you 'ere, becaus' w'y? Eh? You trav' all ze way from Cincinnat' to see Pawp, I sink you mus' see 'im nice. So I arrive you 'ere."
In the space of three minutes he had taken as complete possession of the pair as if he had bought them. They offered no resistance, and finding themselves in a better position, were grateful. Their bustling little proprietor was neatly dressed and, except for his trifling mustache, clean-shaven. He was calm and self-contained for his kind—which means that had he been an American he must have been thought to labor unsuccessfully with overmastering emotion. When, from a far corner of the court, came the wail of a baby (of course there were babies there), he leaped as high as he could to shake his forefinger at it and ejaculate, "'Sh!" as if a baby could not cry at a Pope! He was not alone in this action, however. Half the Italians present exhibited their sense of responsibility for the baby's conduct, and the multitudinous "'Sh!" and the sight of so many people jumping up and down and waving their hands either amused or horrified the child into instant silence.
A gentleman coming quietly out of the palace into the arcade created a stir among the various officials and unofficials lounging there. A dozen of these hurried forward to greet him. He was a stout, elderly man; his frock coat was trim, almost dandified, and not new; his silk hat had known many ironings; his gray mustache had a slight, cavalier upward twist; and he looked very happy. Deferential groups followed him and surrounded him; and when he paused to address any person, that person took on, at once, an air of profound attention, bending forward a head cocked to pelican solemnity, as if called into a consultation of state—the manner of the county chairman to whom the United States Senator says something just before the speech.
"'Tis ze Pawp brozzer!" exclaimed the new guardian of the young Americans. "Look how all gentimans bow! He not reech: Pawp family poor pipple; not fine, reech family—ver' poor,—but like many here. No diff' now! See all gentimans make bow and bow. An' look,—see yo'ng gentiman black mustache, bal' head in front, lean agains' marber colun? He Pecci. Gentimans don' run and bow so much to 'eem, now. Treat ver' nice, but not like new Pawp brozzer. An' look—other way—see gentiman w'ite 'airs, w'ite mustache, front of ze ban'; he great com- poser, great musician, gr-r-reat frien' of me; goin' lead ze ban'. Yo'ng girl, all in same clothes—novice—they goin' sing. That w'y I am 'ere. My frien', that great composer, he make special compozitzion for to-day. He write to me, las' night, to me, his gr-r-reat frien', that I shall be 'ere for his great special compozitzion. An' w'y? Beckoss I am jawnlis!"
"Jawnlis?" The young couple could make nothing of the word.
"Jawnlis! Yes. Me, I am jawnlis. Make report to newspape'! You un'stan'?" He jerked a pencil from one pocket, a crumpled sheet of blank paper from another, and made, in half a minute, half a hundred imitations of a man writing, including all the gyrations incidental to the act as he conceived it—writing furiously for a second, pursing his lips with energy; pausing then, plunged into abysmal thought in the effort of composition; pirouetting out of it, happily relieved by a shining idea; writing again more violently, turning the sheet to go down the other side, not forgetting to stab it with periods and slash it with dashes, his hand fluttering to high poises, then swooping down like that of an old-fashioned piano-pupil "showing technique," and completing the masterpiece almost as quickly as a melodrama heroine does her letter of farewell to the cruel guardian.
"Write!" he cried. "Write, write, write! You un'stan'? Write! So! Write in newspape'! Jawnlis! So! Critichise compozitzion make for to-day. 'E write me special. W'y? You can imaginate! I am jawnlis, man of newspape'! An' I am his gr-r-eat frien'. You un'stan'. Yes, I am jawnlis." With that the journalist laid his forefinger along his nose—a gesture which, in Italy, usually denotes not a sly or facetious intention, but the contrary.
"It take brain," he said, impressively, but with an undercurrent of melancholy expressive of the loneliness of his isolation, "great brain. Sank God, I haf brain! Zees pipple all roun' you, zey haf
