The magistrate was disturbed, and preferred not to send for the consul.  He offered to release Uncle John if he would give the cabman a good lira in exchange for the bad one.  The official fee would be five lira—­or say three lira—­or even two.  Uncle John flatly refused to pay anything to anybody.  Only war could settle this international complication—­bloody and bitter war.  The consul must cable at once for war-ships and troops.  He would insist upon it.  All compromise was now impossible!

The magistrate was frightened.  The guarde’s eyes bulged with horror and he trembled visibly.  It was evident they had made a grave mistake in arresting this mad American, who was evidently a personage of great importance and able to declare war at a moment’s notice.  The cabman, the magistrate, the guarde and the interpreter put their heads together and chattered voluble Italian—­all speaking at once in excited tones—­while Uncle John continued to warn them at the top of his lungs that their country was doomed to sudden annihilation and they were the culprits responsible for the coming calamity.

As a result they bundled the irate American into the carriage again and drove him poste haste back to the museum, where they deposited him upon the steps.  Then in a flash the guarde and the cabman disappeared from sight and were seen no more.

The victor smiled proudly as his nieces rushed toward him.

“Did you have to pay another lira, Uncle?” asked Patsy, anxiously.

“Not on your life, my dear,” mopping his brow vigorously.  “They’re a lot of cutthroats and assassins—­policemen, magistrates and all—­but when the eagle screams they’re wise enough to duck.”

The girls laughed.

“And did the eagle scream, then?” Patsy enquired.

“Just a little, my dear; but if it whispered it would sound mighty loud in this mummified old world.  But we’ve lost enough time for one day.  Come; let’s go see ‘Narcissus’ and the ‘Dancing Faun.’”

CHAPTER XII

MOVING ON

“Here’s a letter from my dear old friend Silas Watson,” said Uncle John, delightedly.  “It’s from Palermo, where he has been staying with his ward—­and your friend, girls—­Kenneth Forbes, and he wants me to lug you all over to Sicily at once.”

“That’s jolly,” said Patsy, with a bright smile.  “I’d like to see Kenneth again.”

“I suppose he is a great artist, by this time,” said Beth, musingly.

“How singular!” exclaimed Louise.  “Count Ferralti told me only this morning that he had decided to go to Palermo.”

“Really?” said Uncle John.

“Yes, Uncle.  Isn’t it a coincidence?”

“Why, as for that,” he answered, slowly, “I’m afraid it will prevent our seeing the dear count—­or whatever he is—­again, at least for some time.  For Mr. Watson and Kenneth are just leaving Palermo, and he asks us to meet him in another place altogether, a town called—­called—­let me see; Tormenti, or Terminal, or something.”