manager, then he came working his way through the little crowd—­seeking me, I thought.  I had a mind to slip away, but concluded I wouldn’t; I would stand my ground, and confront the villainy, whatever it was.  The youth stood before me and held up that Swiss coin, sure enough, and said something.  I did not understand him, but I judged he was requiring Italian money of me.  The crowd gathered close, to listen.  I was irritated, and said—­in English, of course: 

“I know it’s Swiss, but you’ll take that or none.  I haven’t any other.”

He tried to put the coin in my hand, and spoke again.  I drew my hand away, and said: 

“No, sir.  I know all about you people.  You can’t play any of your fraudful tricks on me.  If there is a discount on that coin, I am sorry, but I am not going to make it good.  I noticed that some of the audience didn’t pay you anything at all.  You let them go, without a word, but you come after me because you think I’m a stranger and will put up with an extortion rather than have a scene.  But you are mistaken this time—­you’ll take that Swiss money or none.”

The youth stood there with the coin in his fingers, nonplused and bewildered; of course he had not understood a word.  An English-speaking Italian spoke up, now, and said: 

“You are misunderstanding the boy.  He does not mean any harm.  He did not suppose you gave him so much money purposely, so he hurried back to return you the coin lest you might get away before you discovered your mistake.  Take it, and give him a penny—­that will make everything smooth again.”

I probably blushed, then, for there was occasion.  Through the interpreter I begged the boy’s pardon, but I nobly refused to take back the ten cents.  I said I was accustomed to squandering large sums in that way —­it was the kind of person I was.  Then I retired to make a note to the effect that in Italy persons connected with the drama do not cheat.

The episode with the showman reminds me of a dark chapter in my history.  I once robbed an aged and blind beggar-woman of four dollars—­in a church.  It happened this way.  When I was out with the Innocents Abroad, the ship stopped in the Russian port of Odessa and I went ashore, with others, to view the town.  I got separated from the rest, and wandered about alone, until late in the afternoon, when I entered a Greek church to see what it was like.  When I was ready to leave, I observed two wrinkled old women standing stiffly upright against the inner wall, near the door, with their brown palms open to receive alms.  I contributed to the nearer one, and passed out.  I had gone fifty yards, perhaps, when it occurred to me that I must remain ashore all night, as I had heard that the ship’s business would carry her away at four o’clock and keep her away until morning.  It was a little after four now.  I had come ashore with only two pieces of money, both about the same size, but differing largely in value—­one was a French gold piece worth four dollars, the other a Turkish coin worth two cents and a half.  With a sudden and horrified misgiving, I put my hand in my pocket, now, and sure enough, I fetched out that Turkish penny!