He put his
hat on recklessly, and thrust his hands into his pa--his trouser
pockets. We were in a strange town, but he fastened his eyes moodily
upon the pavement, as if nothing else were worth considering. As we
strolled into the Piazza Bra, I saw him gradually and furtively turn up
his coat-collar, at which I felt obliged to protest.
"Look here, Dicky," I said, "unrequited affection is, doubtless, very
trying, but you're too much of an advertisement. The Veronese are
beginning to stare at you; their sorcerers will presently follow you
about with their patent philters. Reform your personal appearance, or
here, at the foot of this statue of Victor Emmanuel, I leave you to your
fate."
Dicky reformed it, but with an air of patience under persecution which I
found hard to bear. "I don't know your authority for calling it
unrequited," he said, with dignity.
"All right--undelivered," I replied. "That is a noble statue--you can't
contradict the guide-book. By Borghi."
"Victor Emmanuel, is it? Then it isn't Garibaldi. You don't have to
travel much in Italy to know it's got to be either one or the other.
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