embroidery-seller, who had a certain air of refined innocence,
"_Bestemmiar, no. Brutto bestemmiare. Non gli piace, no_," and resume
his game.

Peter, who was selling embroidery, liked him so much that he followed him
when he went to try his luck at the cigar game. Here Peter, who never
smoked, won two black and snake-like cigars, which he presented to the
beautiful young man, who received them with immense cordiality. A little
later the young man, whose name was Livio, involved himself in a violent
quarrel with the cigar banker, watched by an amused, placid and impartial
crowd of spectators. Peter knew Livio to have the right on his side,
because the banker had an unpleasant face and Livio accused him of being
not only a Venetian but a Freemason. The banker in response remarked that
he was not going to stay to be insulted by a Ligurian thief, and with
violent gestures unscrewed his tin lady and her bunch of real lemons and
put away his board. Livio burst into a studied and insulting shout of
laughter, stopped abruptly without remembering to bring it to a proper
finish, and began to be pleasant to the embroidery-seller, speaking
broken American English with a strong nasal twang.

"My name is Livio Ceresole. Bin in America; the States. All over the
place. Chicago, 'Frisco, Pullman cars, dollars--_you_ know. Learnt
Engliss there. Very fine country; I _should_ smile." He did so, and
looked so amiable and so engaging that the embroidery-seller smiled back,
thinking what a beautiful person he was. He had the petulant, half
sensuous, spoilt-boy beauty of a young Antinuous, with a rakish touch
added by the angle of his hat and his snappy American idioms.

So it came about that those two threw in their lots for a time. There was
something about the embroidery-seller that drew these casual friendships