“They pretty fair,” said Paolo:  “no so good as them las’ week; no sweet as them was.”

“Why, how do you know without tasting them?” said the Interviewer.

“I know by his look,—­I know by his smell,—­he no good yaller,—­he no smell ripe,—­I know orange ever since my head no bigger than he is,” and Paolo laughed at his own comparison.

The Interviewer laughed louder than Paolo.

“Good!” said he,—­“first-rate!  Of course you know all about ’em.  Why can’t you pick me out a couple of what you think are the best of ’em?  I shall be greatly obliged to you.  I have a sick friend, and I want to get two nice sweet ones for him.”

Paolo was pleased.  His skill and judgment were recognized.  He felt grateful to the stranger, who had given him, an opportunity of conferring a favor.  He selected two, after careful examination and grave deliberation.  The Interviewer had sense and tact enough not to offer him an orange, and so shift the balance of obligation.

“How is Mr. Kirkwood, to-day?” he asked.

“Signor?  He very well.  He always well.  Why you ask?  Anybody tell you he sick?”

“No, nobody said he was sick.  I have n’t seen him going about for a day or two, and I thought he might have something the matter with him.  Is he in the house now?”

“No:  he off riding.  He take long, long rides, sometime gone all day.  Sometime he go on lake, paddle, paddle in the morning, very, very early,—­in night when the moon shine; sometime stay in house, and read, and study, and write,—­he great scholar, Misser Kirkwood.”

“A good many books, has n’t he?”

“He got whole shelfs full of books.  Great books, little books, old books, new books, all sorts of books.  He great scholar, I tell you.”

“Has n’t he some curiosities,—­old figures, old jewelry, old coins, or things of that sort?”

Paolo looked at the young man cautiously, almost suspiciously.  “He don’t keep no jewels nor no money in his chamber.  He got some old things,—­old jugs, old brass figgers, old money, such as they used to have in old times:  she don’t pass now.”  Paolo’s genders were apt to be somewhat indiscriminately distributed.

A lucky thought struck the Interviewer.  “I wonder if he would examine some old coins of mine?” said he, in a modestly tentative manner.

“I think he like to see anything curious.  When he come home I ask him.  Who will I tell him wants to ask him about old coin?”

“Tell him a gentleman visiting Arrowhead Village would like to call and show him some old pieces of money, said to be Roman ones.”

The Interviewer had just remembered that he had two or three old battered bits of copper which he had picked up at a tollman’s, where they had been passed off for cents.  He had bought them as curiosities.  One had the name of Gallienus upon it, tolerably distinct,—­a common little Roman penny; but it would serve his purpose of asking a question, as would two or three others with less legible legends.  Paolo told him that if he came the next morning he would stand a fair chance of seeing Mr. Kirkwood.  At any rate, he would speak to his master.