pensione_, waiting for money from home."

Merrihew gnawed the end of his cane. All his pleasant dreams had burst
like soap-bubbles. Had they not always done so? There would be no jaunts
with Kitty, no pleasant little excursions, no little suppers after the
performance. And what's a Michelangelo or a Titian when a man's in love?

"Brace up, Dan. Who knows? Kitty may be on the high seas, that is, if
she has taken my advice and got a return-ticket. I'll give you a dinner
at the Bertolini to-night, and you may have the magnum of any vintage
you like. We'll have Tomass' drive us down the Via Caracciolo. It will
take some of the disappointment out of your system."

"Any old place," was the joyless response. "Seems to me that Italy has
all the cards when it comes to graft."

"America, my boy, is only in the primary department. Kitty's manager
forgot the most important thing of the whole outfit."

"What's that?"

"The Itching Palm. Evidently it had not been properly soothed. Come on;
we may run across some of our ship-acquaintances. To-morrow we'll start
for Rome, and then we shall add our own investigations to those of the
consul."

They had ridden up and down the Via Caracciolo twice when they espied a
huge automobile, ultramarine blue. It passed with a cloud of dust and a
rumble which was thunderous. Hillard half rose from his seat.

"Somebody you know?" asked Merrihew.

"The man at the wheel looked a bit like Sandford."

"Sandford? By George, that would be jolly!"

"Perhaps they will come this way again. Tomass', follow that motor."

Sure enough, when the car reached the Largo Vittoria, it wheeled and
came rumbling back. This time Hillard had no doubts. He stood up and
waved his arms. The automobile barked and groaned and came to a stand.

"Hello, Sandford!"

"Jack Hillard, as I live, and Dan Merrihew! Nell?" turning to one of the
three pretty women in the tonneau. "What did I tell you? I felt it in my
bones that we would run across some one we knew."

"Or over them," his wife laughed.

In a foreign land one's flag is no longer eyed negligently and
carelessly, as though it possessed no significance; it now becomes a
symbol of the soil wherein our hearts first took root. A popular tune we
have once scorned, now, when heard, catches us by the throat; the merest
acquaintance becomes a long-lost brother; and persons to whom we nod
indifferently at home now take the part of tried and true friends. But
when we