Towards the end of the week, however, Dicky grew remorseful. "It's all
very well," he said to me privately, "for Mrs. Wick to say that she
could spend a lifetime in Florence, if the houses only had a few modern
conveniences. I daresay she could--and as for your poppa, he's as
patient as if this were a Washington hotel and he had a caucus every
night, but it's as plain as Dante's nose that the Senator's dead sick of
this city."
"Dicky," I said, "that is a reflection of your own state of mind. Poppa
is willing to take as much more Botticelli and Filippo Lippi as it may
be necessary to give him."
"Oh, I know he _would_" Dicky admitted, "but he isn't as young as he
was, and I should hate to feel I was imposing on him. Besides, I'm
beginning to conclude that they've skipped Florence."
So it came to pass that we departed for Venice next day, tarrying one
night at Bologna. We had cut a day off Bologna for Dicky's sake, but the
Senator could not be persuaded to sacrifice it altogether on account of
its well known manufacture, into the conditions of which he wished to
inquire.
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