and calling out. "I want you."

And in come the new Italian man, smiling and bowing and looking "meek
and lowly, sick and sore," as the song says.

Well, we laughed at Brown's talk and asked the Italian all kinds of fool
questions and nobody noticed that the count wan't saying nothing. Pretty
soon he gets up and says he guesses he'll go to his room, 'cause he
feels sort of sick.

And I tell you he looked sick. He was yellower than he was the other
night, and he walked like he hadn't got his sea legs on. Old Dillaway
was terrible sorry and kept asking if there wan't something he could do,
but the count put him off and went out.

"Now that's too bad!" says Brown. "Spaghetti, you needn't wait any
longer."

So the other Italian went out, too.

And then Peter T. Brown turned loose and talked the way he done when
me and Jonadab first met him. He just spread himself. He told of this
bargain that he'd made and that sharp trade he had turned, while we set
there and listened and laughed like a parsel of fools. And every time
that Ebenezer'd get up to go to bed, Peter'd trot out a new yarn and
he'd have to stop to listen to that. And it got to be eleven o'clock and
then twelve and then one.

It was just about quarter past one and we was laughing our heads off at
one of Brown's jokes, when out under the back window there was a jingle