ional of course. Sometimes I could save a detour if I would stop and
ask; but I prefer to plunge on and make a mistake rather than admit that
a mere man on legs can teach me anything I don't know. It seems somehow
to degrade the automobile."

The argument was too subtle for me, not being an automobilist; and on
trying to get out of Bergamo, Mr. Barrymore made one of his little
detours. The road twisted; and instead of finding the one towards
Brescia it happened that we went down a broad way which looked like a
high road, but happened to be only a _cul de sac_ leading to the railway
station. We were annoyed for a minute, but we were to rejoice in the
next.

Seeing his error, Mr. Barrymore had just turned the car and was circling
round, when two men stepped into the middle of the road and held up
their hands. They appeared so suddenly that they made me start. They
were very tall and very grave, dressed alike, in long black coats
buttoned to their chins, black gloves, and high black hats. Each carried
an oaken staff.

"They're mutes," said Sir Ralph as Mr. Barrymore put on the brake.
"They've come to warn us that there's going to be a funeral, and we must
clear out for the procession."

The pair looked so sepulchral, I thought he must be right, though I'd
never seen any "funeral mutes." But Mr. Barrymore answered in a low
voice, "No, they're policemen. I wonder what's up?" Then, aloud, he
addressed the melancholy black beanpoles; but to my surprise, instead of
using his fluent Italian to lubricate the strained situation, he spoke
in English.

"Good day. Do you want something with me?"

Of course they didn't understand. How could they have been expected to?
But they did not look astonished. Their black coats were too tight round
their necks for them to change expression easily. One began to explain
his object or intention, with gentle patience, in soft Italian--so soft
that I could have burst out laughing at the thought of the contrast
between him and a New York policeman.

Now almost my whole knowledge of Italian has been gained since Aunt
Kathryn decided to take this trip, for then I immediately bought a
phrase-book, a grammar, and "Doctor Antonio" translated into the native
tongue of hero and author, all of which I've diligently studied every
evening. Mr. Barrymore, on the contrary, speaks perfectly. I believe he
could even think in Italian if he liked; nevertheless _I_ could
understand a great deal that the thi