Pompeii.

It seemed a casual and a cheerful place, full of open doors and
proprietary Neapolitans who might have been brothers and sisters-in-law,
whose conversation we interrupted coming in. There had been domestic
potations; a very fat lady, with a horn comb in her hair, wiped liquid
rings off the table with her apron, removing the glasses, while a
collarless male person with an agreeable smile and a soft felt hat
placed wooden chairs for us in a row. Poppa knows no Italian, but they
seemed to understand from what he said that we wanted things to drink,
and brought us with surprising accuracy precisely what each of us
preferred, lemonade for momma and me, and beverages consisting largely,
though not entirely, of soda water for the Senator and Mr. Dod. While
we refreshed ourselves, another, elderly, grizzled, and one-eyed, came
and took up a position just outside the door opposite and sang a song of
adventurous love, boxing his own ears in the chorus with the liveliest
effect. A further agreeable person waited upon us and informed us that
he was the interpreter, he would everything explain to us, that this was
a beggar man who wanted us to give him some small money, but there was
no compulsion if we did not wish to do so. I think he gave us that
interpretation for nothing. The fat lady then produced a large fan which
she waved over us assiduously, and the collarless man in the soft hat
stood by to render aid in any further emergency, smiling upon us as if
we were delicacies out of season. Poppa bore it as long as he could, and
we all made an unsuccessful effort to appear as if we were quite
accustomed to as much attention and more in the hotels of America; but
in a very few minutes we knew all the disadvantages of being of too much
importance. Presently the one-eyed man gave way to a pair of players on
the flute and mandolin.

"Look here," said poppa at this, to the interpreter, "you folks are
putting yourselves out on our account a great deal more than is
necessary. We are just ordinary travelling public, and you don't need to
entertain us with side shows that we haven't ordered any more than if we
belonged to your own town. See?" But the interpreter did not see. He
beckoned instead to an engaging daughter of the fat lady, who approached
modestly with a large book of photographs, which she opened before the
Senator, kneeling beside his chair.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed poppa, "I'm not a crowned head. Rise, Miss
Dio