"It is not so much a meal as a relish," said the sweep. "But talk
away--we'll never quarrel over terms."

"I hope not," Angioletto took him up; "because I have done with
poetising and have a mind to try your trade."

Beppo, his mouth full of onion, paused in his bite to gape at this
dapper page, who, all scarlet and white as he was, talked after such a
fashion.

"How'll that be now?" he said. "You've never come all this way to crack
a joke?"

"Ah, never in the world, my friend," cried Angioletto. "I am in
earnest."

"You may be as earnest as a friar in the pulpit, and yet pretty bad at
chimney-work, young master. What do you know of it, pray?"

"Nothing at all," replied Angioletto, as if that helped him.

"Look at that now," cried the triumphant Sor Beppo.

"Pardon me, Master Beppo," said the youth, "you cannot look at it yet,
but you very soon shall. Have you a chimney to hand?"

"Ah, I might have that," the old man agreed, with a chuckle which ended
as a snort. "There might be a chimney in my house that's not been swept
for thirty year, having little time and less inclination to sweep 'em
for nothing but glory. But, happen there were such a piece of work, what
then?"

Angioletto pointed into the house. "Is that the chimney, Beppo?"

Beppo nodded. "That might be the chimney in question, my gentleman."

With a "By your leave, Sor Beppo," Angioletto stepped delicately into
the room. He threw down cloak and cap, unstrapped girdle and hanger,
stripped off his doublet, and stood up in shirt and breeches. Beppo
watched him, all agape, too breathless to chew. Before he could
interfere--

"By the Saints, but he's in!" he cried with arms thrown up. "Eh, master,
come you back, come you back!"

"What do you want?" a muffled voice came from the chimney. Beppo sawed
the air.

"Don't you play the fool up there, my boy, don't you do it! That's as
foul as the grave, that chimney is. I'll have ye on my soul as long as I
live, and I can ill afford it, for I've a queasy conscience in my black
shell." He seemed to be treading on pins.

He was answered, "We will talk of your conscience and its shell when I
come back. Take off my shoes, will you?"

A neat leg was pushed into the fireplace; then another. Beppo did the
office, meek as an acolyte. Then he sighed, for the legs drew up the
chimney and vanished in dust.

"There goes a lad of spirit to his gloomy end," murmured brokenly the
sweep, as he looked at the litt