"T'ree hunder' fifta dolla--_no_!" answered her betrothed. "I
keep in de pock'!" He showed her where the bills were pinned into his
corduroy waistcoat pocket. "See! Eesa _yau!_ Onna my heart, libra
Ogostine!"

"Toby, uf you ain'd dake ut by der builtun-loan, _blease_ put ut
in der bink?"

"I keep!" he repeated, shaking his head seriously. "In t'ree-four
mont' eesa five-hunder-dolla. Nobody but me eesa tross weet that
money."

Nor could Bertha persuade him. It was their happiness he watched
over. Who to guard it as he, the dingy, precious parcel of bills? He
pictured for himself a swampy forest through which he was laying a
pathway to Bertha, and each of the soiled green notes that he pinned
in his waistcoat was a strip of firm ground he had made, over which he
advanced a few steps nearer her. And Bertha was very happy, even
forgetting, for a while, to be afraid of the smallpox, which had
thrown out little flags, like auction signs, here and there about the
city.

When the full heat of summer came, Pietro laughed at the dog-days; and
it was Bertha's to suffer in the hot little restaurant; but she smiled
and waved to Pietro, so that he should not know. Also she made him
sell iced lemonade and birch beer, which was well for the corduroy
waistcoat pocket. Never have you seen a more alluring merchant. One
glance toward the stand; you caught that flashing smile, the owner of
it a-tip-toe to serve you; and Pietro managed, too, by a light jog to