the cold, morning light, she cried out in amazement first, and then in
rage--deeming me one of those parasites who tramp the world in the garb
of folly, seeking here a dinner, there a bed, in exchange for some scurvy
tumbling or some witless jests.

"Ossa di Cristo!" was her cry. "Have I housed a Fool?"

"If I am the first you have housed, your tumbling ruin of a tavern has
been a singularly choice resort. Woman--"

"Would you 'woman' me?" she stormed.

"Why, no," said I politely. "I was at fault. I'll keep the title for
your husband--God help him!"

She smiled grimly.

"And are these," she asked, with a ferocious sarcasm, "the jests with
which you pay the score?"

"Jests?" quoth I. "Score? Pish! More eyes, less tongue would more
befit a hostess who has never housed a fool." And with a splendid
gesture I pointed to the ducat gleaming on the table. At sight of the
gold her eyes grew big with greed.

"My master--" she began, and coming forward took the piece in her hand,
to assure herself that she was not the dupe of magic. "A fool with
gold!" she marvelled.

"Is a shame to his calling," I acknowledged. Then--"Get me a needle and