"I prefer feeling it fly away under some one else's stroke, Francisco.
That is pleasant enough, I grant; but the very thought of working as
you do throws me into a perspiration. I should like to be as strong as
you are, but to work as a gondolier is too high a price to pay for it."

That evening, Francis crossed the lagoon in the gondola with Giuseppi,
to inspect the boat he had heard of. It was just what he wanted. In
appearance it differed in no way from an ordinary gondola, but it was a
mere shell. The timbers and planking were extremely light, and the
weight of the boat was little more than a third of that of other craft.
She had been built like a working gondola, instead of in the form of
those mostly used for racing, because her owner had intended, after the
race was over, to plank her inside and strengthen her for everyday
work. But the race had never come off, and the boat lay just as she had
come from the hands of her builder, except that she had been painted
black, like other gondolas, to prevent her planks from opening. When
her owner had determined to part with her he had given her a fresh coat
of paint, and had put her in the water, that her seams might close up.

"I don't like parting with her," the young fisherman to whom she
belonged said. "I tried her once or twice, and she went like the wind,
but I got fever in my bones and I am unlikely to race again, and the
times are hard, and I must part with her."

Francis and Giuseppi gave her a trial, and were delighted with the
speed and ease with which she flew through the water. On their return
Francis at once paid the price asked for her. His father made him a
handsome allowance, in order that he might be able to mix, without
discomfort, with the lads of good family whom he met at his preceptor's