“Why should you speak?” asked Bastianello, repeating the words, and stirring the ashes in his pipe with the point of his knife.  “Because if you do not speak you will never get anything.”

“It will be the same if I do,” observed Ruggiero stolidly.

“I believe that very little,” returned the other.  “And I will tell you something.  If I were to speak to Teresina for you and say, ’Here is my brother Ruggiero, who is not a great signore, but is well grown and has two arms which are good, and a matter of seven or eight hundred francs in the bank, and who is very fond of you, but he does not know how to say it.  Think well if you will have him,’ I would say, ’and if you will not, give me an honest answer and God bless you and let it be the end.’  That is how I would speak, and she would think about it for a week or perhaps two, and then she would say to me, ’Bastianello, tell your brother that I will have him.’  Or else she would say, ’Bastianello, tell your brother that I thank him, but that I have no heart in it.’  That is what she would say.”

“It may be,” said Ruggiero carelessly.  “But of course she would thank, and say ‘Who is this Ruggiero?’ and besides, the world is full of women.”

Bastianello was about to ask the interpretation of this rather enigmatical speech when there was a stir on the pier and two or three boats put out, the men standing in them and sculling them stern foremost.

“Who is it?” asked Bastianello of the boatman who passed nearest to him.

“The Giovannina,” answered the man.

She had returned from her last voyage to Calabria, having taken macaroni from Amalfi and bringing back wine of Verbicaro.  A fine boat, the Giovannina, able to carry twenty tons in any weather, and water-tight too, being decked with hatches over which you can stretch and batten down tarpaulin.  A pretty sight as she ran up to the end of the breakwater, old Luigione standing at the stern with the tiller between his knees and the slack of the main-sheet in his hand.  She was running wing and wing, with her bright new sails spreading far over the water on each side.  Then came a rattle and a sharp creak as the main-yard swung over and came down on deck, the men taking in the bellying canvas with wide open arms and old Luigione catching the end of the yard on his shoulder while he steered with his knees, his great gaunt profile black against the bright sky.  Down foresail, and the good felucca forges ahead and rounds the little breakwater.  Let go the anchor and she is at rest after her long voyage.  For the season has not been good and she has been hauled on a dozen beaches before she could sell her cargo.  The men are all as brown as mahogany, and as lean as wolves, for it has been a voyage with share and share alike for all the crew and they have starved themselves to bring home more money to their wives.

Then there is some bustle and confusion, as Luigione brings the papers ashore and friends crowd around the felucca in boats, asking for news and all talking at once.