this
is Beni," the middle-sized man bowed; "and I am Victor. We are three
bandits--Italian bandits."

"Bandits!" cried Martha, with a look of horror.

"Exactly. Perhaps in all the world there are not three other bandits
so terrible and fierce as ourselves," said Victor, proudly.

"'Tis so," said the fat man, nodding gravely.

"But it's wicked!" exclaimed Martha.

"Yes, indeed," replied Victor. "We are extremely and tremendously
wicked. Perhaps in all the world you could not find three men more
wicked than those who now stand before you."

"'Tis so," said the fat man, approvingly.

"But you shouldn't be so wicked," said the girl;
"it's--it's--naughty!"

Victor cast down his eyes and blushed.

"Naughty!" gasped Beni, with a horrified look.

"'Tis a hard word," said Luigi, sadly, and buried his face in his
hands.

"I little thought," murmured Victor, in a voice broken by emotion,
"ever to be so reviled--and by a lady! Yet, perhaps you spoke
thoughtlessly. You must consider, miss, that our wickedness has an
excuse. For how are we to be bandits, let me ask, unless we are
wicked?"

Martha was puzzled and shook her head, thoughtfully. Then she
remembered something.

"You can't remain bandits any longer," said she, "because you are
now in America."

"America!" cried the three, together.

"Certainly. You are on Prairie avenue, in Chicago. Uncle Walter sent
you here from Italy in this chest."

The bandits seemed greatly bewildered by this announcement. Lugui
sat down on an old chair with a broken rocker and wiped his forehead
with a yellow silk handkerchief. Beni and Victor fell back upon the
chest and looked at her with pale faces and staring eyes.

When he had somewhat recovered himself Victor spoke.

"Your Uncle Walter has greatly wronged us," he said, reproachfully.
"He has taken us from our beloved Italy, where bandits are highly
respected, and brought us to a strange country where we shall not
know whom to rob or how much to ask for a ransom."

"'Tis so!" said the fat man, slapping his leg sharply.

"And we had won such fine reputations in Italy!" said Beni,
regretfully.

"Perhaps Uncle Walter wanted to reform you," suggested Martha.

"Are there, then, no bandits in Chicago?" asked Victor.

"Well," replied the girl, blushing in her turn, "we do not call them
bandits."

"Then what shall we do for a living?" inquired Beni, despairingly.

"A great deal can be done in a big American city," sa