“Via! Via!” she was always exclaiming, pushing Berta and Geppe out of her way: “Via! Via! Who told you to get up? I command you to go back to bed!”
But Berta and Geppe were not thus to be disposed of, nor for that matter was their father. Mario kept wandering in and out of the kitchen—he was bursting with foolish suggestions.
“I would pack the hard-boiled eggs at the bottom of the hamper; that way they will not get so cracked; they will be steady.”
“Via! Via, Mario!” cried Rosa, frowning. “I shall put all the eggs on the top of the hamper; the bottles of wine must go at the bottom, under the panettone.”
“I would like my tobacco put in the hamper, too, so that it will not bulge my pocket. I do not wish to spoil my best suit, and my rubber pouch has just split.”
“We do not wish to eat your tobacco,” Rosa snapped, “nor do we wish to have it as a flavoring. Can’t you go and will you get us our breakfast?”
“We are hungry! We are hungry!” chanted Berta and Geppe, beginning to jump up and down.
Then Mario laughed and went off to his bedroom; his face was beaming with pleasure. “What a day!” he exclaimed, throwing open the window. “Holy Mother of God, what sunshine!”
The hamper packed and their breakfast eaten, Rosa washed both children.
“Ow!” grumbled Geppe as Rosa’s large finger entered his ear with the washrag.
She shook him slightly and prodded again. Presently she oiled down his hair; when she had finished it looked like black paint, but Rosa was pleased with the effect. She dressed him with care in his best sailor suit, the one that was trimmed with white braid.
“If you dirty yourself I will beat you!” she lied. “Go and sit over there on that chair.”
Berta’s toilet was much more complicated; Berta herself saw to that. “I wish to wear my white muslin dress, the one that they gave me at the convent,” she stamped.
“That you shall not,” announced Rosa with decision.
“It was given you to honor Our Blessed Lord, when you take part in His procession.”
“Nevertheless, I will wear it,” said Berta, and she promptly sat down on the floor.
“Cattiva! You will wear your pink print.”
“I will wear my white muslin,” said Berta mulishly. “I will wear nothing else but that.”
“Mario!” called Rosa, “come and speak to this Berta; she refuses to put on her dress.”
“And what does she wish to wear?” inquired Mario, sauntering in from his bedroom.
“The muslin that the good nuns gave her last year for the Blessed Sacrament procession.”
“And why not?” smiled the father, filling his pipe. “Why may she not wear the muslin?”
Rosa looked shocked. “Because,” she said gravely, “it belongs to Our Blessed Lord.”
“He will not object, I am certain,” said Mario. “He would wish his little Berta to be happy.”
So Berta got her way and wore the white frock, blue bows, silver medal and all.
“And see that you do not lose the medal or soil the ribbon,” cautioned Rosa.
Mario retired to make his own toilet. He examined his clothes that lay ready on the chair; a dove-grey suit, a pink shirt and collar and a brand-new crimson silk necktie.
“Va bene,” said Mario, “but where are my boots? Where are my new brown boots? Rosa!” he bawled, “come and find me my boots—I have looked, but they are not here!”
Rosa came in with her mouth full of pins; she too had been dressing at that moment. “Here are your boots, cretino,” she said crossly, producing them from the wardrobe, “but I would not advise you to wear them; it is hot, they are certain to draw your feet.”
“That is nonsense!” he told her, “I wish to wear them; what one wishes to do never hurts.”
He fondled the yellowish leather with his hand, then he rubbed it on the bedspread.
“Magari!” sighed Rosa, “between you and the children, I think we shall never get off. I so carefully warned Geppe to keep himself clean, and now he has spilt coffee all down his blouse.”
At that moment Gian-Luca arrived, looking hot in a knickerbocker suit of brown tweed. He was wearing a spotlessly clean Eton collar and a ready-made blue satin bow.
“Ah! Gian-Luca!” exclaimed Mario, “you are fine this morning, almost as fine as I am!” and Mario surveyed himself in the glass, turning first this way, then that. “Now you have come, it is time we start,” he continued, straightening his necktie. “Let us go and collect the luncheon-basket, also Rosa and the children.”
II
They walked as far as Piccadilly Circus, Mario carrying the hamper. At the Circus they climbed to the top of a bus bound for Hammersmith Broadway.
“Be careful! Be careful!” shrieked Rosa to Geppe, who was trying to swing himself up by the handrail.
“He will hit me in the face with his heels,” fussed Berta; “I wish you would make him behave!”
Mario was stopped at the bottom of the steps by a kindly but firm conductor. “You must leave that ’amper with me,” said the conductor; “no ’ampers allowed on top.”
“Not so,” retorted Mario; “I will take him on my lap—I will nurse him—he cannot be left!”
The conductor pulled the cord and the bus moved off slowly behind the stout, sweating horses.
“I will not leave him!” cried Mario, still clutching his hamper; “you see, I take him on my lap.”
“Oh, all right.” The conductor stood aside for him to pass, and Mario struggled up the steps.
The bus was very full—Geppe sat on top of Rosa. “Here we are!” shrilled Berta from her seat beside Gian-Luca. “You will have to go over there and
