h he were going to get a fortune out of it. His companions accuse
him of miserliness and usury. I do not know: I like him; he teaches me
a great many things; he seems a man to me. Coretti, the son of the
wood-merchant, says that he would not give him his postage-stamps to
save his mother's life. My father does not believe it.

"Wait a little before you condemn him," he said to me; "he has this
passion, but he has heart as well."

VANITY.

Monday, 5th.

Yesterday I went to take a walk along the Rivoli road with Votini and
his father. As we were passing through the Via Dora Grossa we saw
Stardi, the boy who kicks disturbers, standing stiffly in front of the
window of a book-shop, with his eyes fixed on a geographical map; and no
one knows how long he had been there, because he studies even in the
street. He barely returned our salute, the rude fellow! Votini was well
dressed--even too much so. He had on morocco boots embroidered in red,
an embroidered coat, small silken frogs, a white beaver hat, and a
watch; and he strutted. But his vanity was destined to come to a bad end
on this occasion. After having run a tolerably long distance up the
Rivoli road, leaving his father, who was walking slowly, a long way in
the rear, we halted at a stone seat, beside a modestly clad boy, who
appeared to be weary, and was meditating, with drooping head. A man, who
must have been his father, was walking to and fro under the trees,
reading the newspaper. We sat down. Votini placed himself between me and
the boy. All at once he recollected that he was well dressed, and wanted
to make his neighbor admire and envy him.

[Illustration: "STOP THAT, YOU LITTLE RASCALS!"--Page 60.]

He lifted one foot, and said to me, "Have you seen my officer's boots?"
He said this in order to make the other boy look at them; but the latter
paid no attention to them.

Then he dropped his foot, and showed me his silk frogs, glancing askance
at the boy the while, and said that these frogs did not please him, and
that he wanted to have them changed to silver buttons; but the boy did
not look at the frogs either.

Then Votini fell to twirling his very handsome white castor hat on the
tip of his forefinger; but the boy--and it seemed as though he did it on
purpose--did not deign even a glance at the hat.

Votini, who began to become irritated, drew out his watch, opened it,
and showed me the wheels; but the boy did not turn his head. "Is it of
s