rs, and the workmen hoped that Zorzi
would find himself in difficulty at the moment when he would turn in the
expectation of finding the assistant at his elbow. But Zorzi was used to
helping himself. He pushed his blow-pipe into the melted glass and drew
it out, let it cool a moment and then thrust it in again to take up more
of the stuff.

The men went on with their work, seeming to pay no attention to him, and
Piero turned his back and talked to the foreman in low tones. Only
Giovanni watched, standing far enough back to be out of reach of the
long blow-pipe if Zorzi should unexpectedly swing it to its full length.
Zorzi was confident and unconcerned, though he was fully aware that the
men were watching every movement he made, while pretending not to see.
He knew also that owing to his being partly self-taught he did certain
things in ways of his own. They should see that his ways were as good as
theirs, and what was more, that he needed no help, while none of them
could do anything without an apprentice.

The glass grew and swelled, lengthened and contracted with his breath
and under his touch, and the men, furtively watching him, were amazed to
see how much he could do while the piece was still on the blow-pipe.
But when he could do no more they thought that he would have trouble. He
did not even turn his head to see whether any one was near to help him.
At the exact moment when the work was cool enough to stand he attached
the pontil with its drop of liquid glass to the lower end, as he had
done many a time in the laboratory, and before those who looked on could
fully understand how he had done it without assistance, the long and
heavy blow-pipe lay on the floor and Zorzi held his piece on the lighter
pontil, heating it again at the fire.

The men did not stop working, but they glanced at each other and nodded,
when Zorzi could not see them. Giovanni uttered a low exclamation of
surprise. The foreman alone now watched Zorzi with genuine admiration;
there was no mistaking the jealous attitude of the others. It was not
the mean envy of the inferior artist, either, for they were men who, in
their way, loved art as Beroviero himself did, and if Zorzi had been a
new companion recently promoted from the state of apprenticeship in the
guild, they would have looked on in wonder and delight, even if, at the
very beginning, he outdid them all. What they felt was quite different.
It was the deep, fierce hatred of the mediae