ith it for less than thirty
lire."

I repeated the gist of this to my man--Weems was his name, by the way,
of New, Oxford, so he said--and told him he could get the thing for
about twelve lire, if he cared about it. And, to cut the yarn short, he
did buy it for twelve-fifty, and left the shop feeling that he had been
swindled out of at least half a crown.

"What's your purchase about?" I asked when we were in the street again.

He hadn't looked; didn't see that it mattered much; the stuff was old,
and that was the main thing. All these old MSS. were valuable, and
Quaritch was sure to buy it at a good price.

I still had my doubts about that last, but didn't argue. It was his
affair, not mine.

Finally, he suggested dining together, and (as he had been in Genoa
exactly twelve hours) laid down the law without the smallest hesitation
as to which was the best place to go to, and what was best to have. By
that time I had got about sick of his society, and said bluntly that,
as I knew Genoa thoroughly, I was not going anywhere in the Galleria
Mazzini, as he suggested, but to somewhere in another direction; and,
further, that as his idea of his menu and mine didn't appear to
coincide in any one item, we had better bid one another good afternoon.
But the horror of loneliness loomed near him again, and for one of the
few times in his life he changed front without argument. He would
grant, upon second thoughts, that I must know best about such a matter,
and would take it as a great favour if he might place himself under my
guidance. After which, of course, I could not say anything except that
I should be proud to act as his _cicerone_.

We had our meal--which was to be my last good one for many a long day
to come--and a beauty it was. Even my North of England grammar-school
master could not but admit the excellence, although he grumbled at the
price. Afterwards we went through into the _caffe_, and I offered
him a good cigar, saying that if he had been undergoing a course of the
local vegetable he would appreciate it. However, the creature didn't
smoke; and as he also didn't drink black coffee, and as I did both, he
took occasion to point out to me at some length that I was deliberately
crumpling up my constitution. To turn the conversation, I suggested
over-hauling his recent purchase. He seemed sorry to cut short his
sermon, but finding that I was paying no attention, asked what the book
was.

"It's a diary," said I, "