He had been in America first for two years and then for five
years--seven years altogether--but he only spoke a very little English.
He was always with Italians. He had served chiefly in a flag factory,
and had had very little to do save to push a trolley with flags from the
dyeing-room to the drying-room I believe it was this.
Then he had come home from America with a fair amount of money, he had
taken his uncle's garden, had inherited his uncle's little house, and he
lived quite alone.
He was rich, Maria said, shouting in her strident voice. He at once
disclaimed it, peasant-wise. But before the signori he was glad also to
appear rich. He was mean, that was more, Maria cried, half-teasing, half
getting at him.
He attended to his garden, grew vegetables all the year round, lived in
his little house, and in spring made good money as a vine-grafter: he
was an expert vine-grafter.
After the boys had gone to bed he sat and talked to me. He was curiously
attractive and curiously beautiful, but somehow like stone in his clear
colouring and his clear-cut face. His temples, with the black hair, were
distinct and fine as a work of art.
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