Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

16 PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY too, is on paper. Here," and he gave it. "You see, it's duly done by the law, for, you see Well, my son, you were very sick, and I thought I was acting for the best." "You were." responded Giuseppe. "I thank you from my heart. I need never pass down that street again, then?" "Henceforth to your right, not your left, when you step from Anselmo's shop." said the shoemaker. "You face the rising sun and a new life, amico caro.'' The book was his constant companion. It was made up of scraps of conversation to enable Italians to get along in English either as travelers or as waiters. Giuseppe had said often to Anselmo he would like to go to England as a waiter. He would be broken-hearted to leave Italy; but less broken-hearted than if he remained after the cruel stroke of fate he had suffered. "For a while you will like it ; oh. yes. of course!'' Anselmo admitted. "And "Don't! Don't take it! It is my livelihood!" Giuseppe shouted in Italian "My mother in heaven will pray for you," Giuseppe returned reverently, and clasped Anselmo's tough old hand in affection. They spoke no more that night. Anselmo pounded away on a pair, of shoes for the prettiest girl of the neighborhood, who was soon to be married to the best man there, as everybody said. And Giuseppe, who once had been the best man, and his stolen wife the prettiest girl, of the place — Giuseppe spent his time puzzling out the queer words in an English book called, "First Aid in English to Italians." then you will come back to dear old Anselmo, your foster father, and be home again." "Of course, of course!" Giuseppe said, whenever the question came up. He said it so absently that Anselmo never thought he would be so foolish as to make inroads on his one hundred and fifty dollars of savings to go so far away. But Anselmo had not heard from Giuseppe that in the letter he found the terrible evening in No. 5, his sanctuary of home violated, there were unforgetable words written by Maria : "Do not try to find me. I am going to the other end of the world. Tc England. I cannot help it — I have to go." "Poor, little, foolish, stupid, harebrained Maria," Giuseppe had often thought. "She thinks England and America are in the same place, just because you have to cross water to get there." Her stupidity about where the ends of the earth lay did as much as anything to excuse her in his eyes, and to make him hate the Humming Bird, Signor d'Orelli. the more. How did he know this man Signor d'Orelli ? That was Giuseppe's secret, his very own, which he never gave away even in his delirium at Anselmo's house. Signor d'Orelli — how the name rang to rage in his heart ! The great man he was, that wrote stories about great people who had money for fine clothes, line food, and for foolish, stupid women to betray. But also this D'Orelli was a learned man. You must understand that. He did not only find his heroines before him at table. He wrote about humble people, too. He studied them in the poor quarters — especially the women who were sweet and good, with all the air and sky and warmth of Italy. That was how he found Maria. Giuseppe's other self, at No. 5, in the forbidden street of Terrible Disillusion. Whether he wished it or not, Giuseppe had to turn his back on this street the day he set out for London. Yet he would have turned his back on it if he had been obliged to travel the length of the town. "Good-by, Giuseppe, my foster son. my brother — my friend." said old. fat Anselmo. "But be not too long to return. Time is fleet. Man drags along like a snail. Come back and talk that queer English to me. I shall not understand. But I shall be so glad to hear your voice again." They gripped each other in their native embrace, yet said no word. There was a look, a vision of something far ahead and dreadful in Giuseppe's face that awed Anselmo. He watched his stout, trim figure stride down the street, the bundle of clothes on a staff across his shoulder. "He has clothes enough, some bread, the money in his belt,'' murmured Anselmo. "Also he has something fierce