Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad
Down by the brook were green meadows and groves of fruit trees. The
little gentleman followed the stream for some distance, and finally came
upon a man seated on the bank above a broad pool, intently engaged in
fishing. It proved to be the dandified old doctor, who wore gloves to
protect his hands and a broad-rimmed straw hat to shade his face.
Uncle John stood beside the motionless figure for a moment, watching the
line. Then, forgetting he was in a foreign country, he asked carelessly:
"Any luck?"
"Not yet," was the quiet reply, in clear English. "It is too early to
interest the fishes. An hour later they will bite."
"Then why did you come so soon?"
"To escape that hell-hole yonder," nodding his head toward the house.
Uncle John was surprised.
"But you are not a prisoner, doctor," he ventured to say.
"Except through the necessity of earning a livelihood. Il Duca pays
well--or rather the Duchessa does, for she is the head of this
household. I am skillful, and worth my price, and they know it."
"You say the Duchessa is the head of the house?"
"Assuredly, signore. Il Duca is her slave. She plans and directs
everything, and her son but obeys her will."
"Did she send him to America?"
"I think so. But do not misunderstand me. The Duke is clever on his own
account, and almost as wicked as his old mother. And between them they
are training the child to be as bad as they are. It is dreadful."
"Have you been here long?"
"For seven years, signore."
"But you can resign whenever you please?"
"Why not? But the doubt makes me uneasy, sometimes. In another year I
would like to go to Venice, and retire from professional life. I am a
Venetian, you observe; no dastardly brigand of a Sicilian. And in
another year I shall have sufficient means to retire and end my days in
peace. Here I save every centessimo I make, for I can spend nothing."
Uncle John sat down upon the bank beside the confiding Venetian.
"Doctor," said he, "I am somewhat puzzled by this man you call Il Duca,
as well as by my audacious capture and the methods employed to rob me.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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