eager and hospitable to us and
our trunks as they had been in Genoa.

In the Piazza del Duomo we expected the Cathedral, the Leaning Tower,
the Baptistry, and the Campo Santo. We did not expect Mrs. Portheris; at
least, neither of my parents did--I knew enough about Dicky Dod not to
be surprised at any combination he might effect. There they all were in
the middle of the square bit of meadow, apparently waiting for us, but
really, I have no doubt, getting an impression of the architecture as a
whole. I could tell from Mrs. Portheris's attitude that she had
acknowledged herself to be gratified. Strange to relate, her
gratification did not disappear when she saw that these mediaeval
circumstances would inconsistently compel her to recognise very modern
American connections. She approached us quite blandly, and I saw at once
that Dicky Dod had been telling her that poppa's chances for the
Presidency were considered certain, that the Spanish Infanta had stayed
with us while she was in Chicago at the Exhibition, and that we fed her
from gold plate. It was all in Mrs. Portheris's manner.

"Another unexpected meeting!" she exclaimed. "My dear Mrs. Wick, you
_are_ looking worn out! Try my sal volatile--I insist!" and in the
general greeting momma was seen to back violently away from a long
silver bottle in every direction. Poppa had to interfere. "If it's all
the same to you, Aunt Caroline," he said, "Mrs. Wick is quite as usual,
though I think the Middle Agedness of this country is a little trying
for her at this time of year. She's just a little upset this morning by
seeing the cook plucking a rooster down in the backyard before he'd
killed it. The rooster was in great affliction, you see, and the way he
crowed got on momma's nerves. She's been telling us about it ever since.
But we hope it will pass off."

Mrs. Portheris expanded into that inevitable British story of the
officer who reported of certain tribes that they had no manners and
their customs were abominable, and I, at a mute invitation from Dicky,
stepped aside to get the angle of the Tower from a better point of view.

Mr. Dod was depressed, so much so that he came to the point at once. "I
hope you had a good time in Genoa," he said. "We should have been there
now, only I knew we should never catch up to you if we didn't skip
something. So I heard of a case of cholera there, and didn't mention
that it was last year. Quite enough for Her Ex. I say, though--it's