felt vaguely disturbed, liking neither the looks of the man nor the tone of
his inquiry.

Silently and with evident envy the man watched the pigeon's joyous spiral;
then he again addressed the boy:

"Come, now, what will you take for him! Twenty lire! [Footnote: A lire in
ordinary times is worth about twenty cents.] A. hundred? You must admit
that is a high price for a pigeon when it would be so easy a matter to
replace him. There are hundreds of pigeons in Venice."

"He is not for sale!" Andrea answered curtly, wishing the man would leave
him alone.

The stranger turned sullenly, not liking to be baffled, muttering under his
breath, "That bird would be worth any amount of money to me if I could but
secure him for the War Department in Vienna!"

As for Chico his troubles for the day had only begun. By chance he flew
somewhat lower than was usual with him, and thus attracted the attention of
a shabby, ill-looking fellow who with gun in hand was wandering about the
side streets, hoping he might be so fortunate as to get a shot at some fat
pigeon for a pot-pie.

After a quick glance to be sure no sharpnosed guard was in sight, he raised
his gun and fired. Startled by the report Chico quickened his flight, and
the bullet whizzed past merely grazing one wing and inflicting a slight
wound on his left leg. The pain, however, was sharp and caused him to slow
down, so that he did not reach his destination until some time after Andrea
had returned, much to the anxiety of his friends.