“You should never judge foreigners by their appearance, Alexander,” rebuked momma.

“Well, Mr. Bebbini,” said the Senator, “I guess I’ve got to apologise to you.  You see they told me inside there that I should probably find a—­a tonsorial artist out here on the steps”—­poppa never minds telling a story to save people’s feelings.  “But you haven’t convinced me,” he continued, “that I’ve got any use for a courier.”

“You wish see Genoa—­is it not?”

“Well, yes,” replied the Senator, “it is.”

“Then with me you come alonga.  I will translate you the city—­shoppia, pallass—­w’at you like.  Also I am not dear man neither.  In the season yes.  Then I am very dear.  But now is nobody.”

“What does your time cost to buy?” demanded poppa.

“Very cheap price.  Two francs one hour.  Ten francs one day.  But if with you I travel, make arrangimento, you und’stan’, look for traina—­’otel, biglietto, bagaglia—­then I am so little you laugh.  Two ’undred franc the month!” and Alessandro indicated with every muscle of his body the amazement he expected us to feel.

The Senator turned to the ladies of his family.  “Now that I think of it,” he said, “travels in Italy are never written without a courier.  People wouldn’t believe they were authentic.  And Bramley said if you really wanted to enjoy yourself it was folly not to engage one.”

“I suppose there’s more choice in the season,” said momma, glancing disapprovingly at Alessandro’s swarthy collar.  “And I confess I should have expected them to be garbed more picturesquely.”

“Look at his language,” I remarked.  “You can’t have everything.”

The Senator said that was so.  “I believe you can come along, Mr. Bebbini,” he said; “we’re strangers here and we’ll get you to help us to enjoy ourselves for a month on the terms you name.  You can begin right away.”

Alessandro bowed and waved us to the carriage.  It was only the ordinary commercial bow of Italy, but I could see that it made a difference to momma.  He saw us seated and was climbing on the box when poppa interfered.  “There’s no use trying to work it that way,” he said; “we can’t ask you to twist your head off every time you emit a piece of information.  Besides, there’s no sense in your riding on the box when there’s an extra seat.  You won’t crowd us any, Mr. Bebbini, and I guess we can refrain from discussing family matters for one hour.”

So we started, with Mr. Bebbini at short range.

“I think,” said he, “you lika first off the ’ouse of Cristoforo Colombo.”

“I don’t see how you knew,” said poppa, “but you are perfectly correct.  Cristoforo was one of the most distinguished Americans on the roll of history, and we, also, are Americans.  At once, at once to the habitation of Cristoforo.”

Alessandro leaned forward impressively.

“Who informa you Cristoforo Colombo was Americano?  Better you don’t believe these other guide—­ignoranta fella.  Cristoforo was Genoa man, born here, you und’stan’?  Italiano.  Only live in America a lill’ w’ile—­to discover, you und’stan’?”