ks and masts rising
unexpectedly, and many little fish shops, and a glitter of scales on the
pavement, and disconnected coils of rope, and lounging men with
earrings, and unkempt women with babies, and above and over all the
warm scent, standing still in the sun, of hemp, and tar, and the sea.

"The city," said the Senator, casting his practised eye on a piece of
dead wall that ran along the pavement, "is evidently in the turmoil of a
general election, though you mightn't notice it. It's the third time
I've seen those posters '_Viva il Prefetto!_' and '_Viva L'opposizione!_
That seems to be about all they can do, just as if we contented ourselves
with yelling ''Rah for Bryan!' 'One more for McKinley!' I must say if they
haven't any more notion of business than that they don't either of 'em
deserve to get there."

"In France," observed Mr. Dod, "they stick up little handbills addressed
to their '_chers concitoyens_' as if voters were a lot of baa-lambs and
willie-boys. It makes enervating reading."

"Young man," said poppa in a burst of feeling, "they say the American
eagle might keep her beak shut with advantage, more than she does; but I
tell you," and the Senator's hand came down hard on Dicky's knee, "a
trip around Europe is enough to turn her into a singing bird, sir, a
singing bird."

I don't get my imagination entirely from momma.

"_Viva il Prefetto! Viva L'opposizione!_" poppa repeated pityingly, as
another pair of posters came in sight. "Well, it won't ever do the
Government of Italy any good, but I guess I'm with the _Opposizione_."

The road grew emptier and sandy white, and commerce forsook it but for
here and there a little shop with fat yellow bags, which were the
people's cheeses, hanging in bladders at the door. Crumbled gateways
began to appear, and we saw through them that the villa gardens inside
ran down and dropped their rose leaves into the blue of the
Mediterranean. We met the country people going their ways to town; they
looked at us with friendly patronage, knowing all about us, what we had
come to see, and the foolishness of it, and especially the ridiculous
cost of _carozza_ that take people to Pompeii. And at last, just as the
sun and the jolting and the powdery white dust combined had instigated
us all to suggest to the Senator how much better it would have been to
come by rail, the ponies made a glad and jingling sweep under the
acacias of the Hotel Diomede, which is at the portals of