The patron, while proud of his young friend, did not intend to spoil his chances in after life by an indelible bodily mark of this kind however honourably attained.  He had other designs for him.  To pass the next year or two, he made arrangements for Giustino, now grown lean and wolfish, to be officially received into the Black Hand.  As probationer he was the delight of his superiors; he went through the various tests with phenomenal rapidity and gave abundant proofs of manliness.  At the age of sixteen he had already killed three men—­one of them being a policeman who was suspected of infidelity towards the Society.  It was then that the protector, who was no fool, spoke to him a second time, saying: 

“As you know, my son, I can neither read nor write.  Those were not considered respectable accomplishments, in my day, for a lad of spirit or a man of honour.  Devil’s work!  But we live in an effeminate age.  Virtue is at a discount.  The wise man, while observing these things with regret, adapts himself to them.  He marches with the times.  They call us reactionaries.  It depends upon boys like you to show the world what reactionaries are good for.  The whole town has already learnt to respect your manly instincts.  You must now go further and learn to read and write.  You will then enter the University.  There you will study law and politics.  You will then enter Parliament.  There you will represent our cause.  The means—­the money?  Trust the Society!  Only be a credit to your friends, defend the poor, and never forget to say your prayers.  Then the good God will reward your efforts.”

This is precisely what the good God did.  Within a short space of time the young deputy had made a name for himself; he was recognized as one of the few representatives of the Black Hand whose word could be implicitly relied upon.  He had a share in everything; commissions and percentages poured in upon him.  After making an example of half a dozen tiresome persons by having them quietly stabbed or shot—­nothing was ever proved against him though everybody knew it was his work—­he experienced no further opposition in his political career.  Morena never threatens, they say; he performs.  A safe man!  From a timorous Liberal Government, his avowed enemies, he extorted the title of Commendatore; not because he attached any value to such outward distinctions but because, like a true Camorrista, he never lost an opportunity of showing that he could do what he pleased with everybody, Government included.  It was an open secret that the next vacant portfolio of Justice would be at his disposal.  All this of course was years and years ago.