File:Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 109 June to November 1904 (1904) (14779852001).jpg

Identifier: harpersnew0109various (find matches)
Title: Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 109 June to November 1904
Year: 1904 (1900s)
Authors: various
Subjects:
Publisher: New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers
Contributing Library: Brigham Young University-Idaho, David O. McKay Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Brigham Young University-Idaho

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in, the comandantelooked inquiringly, and with a flourish Idrew forth my passport and bowed low. He understood no English, this officer,and he read it aloud with the accent ofthe Italian, the rest of Terranova join-ing in like a Greek chorus. Hair—blacka, quoth he, looking atmy nose. Blacka, assented the crowd. Eyes—br-r-r-own, gazing doubtfullyat my mouth. Br-r-r-own, murmured the chorus. Fa-che—oval. There was a dread-ful pause. THE SEARCH FOR A LOST REPUBLIC. 935 Oval, re-peated thecomandant e,shaking hishead. Oval,whispered thecrowd, eyesstraying- un-certainly fromhead to foot.I was genu-inely alarmed.Had my facegrown fat, orwas this uni-formed idiotfilled with thecomme ndabledesire of thevillain to makeas much of hispart as pos-sible ? WouldI catch the lateboat back toCivita Vec-chia—or wouldI spend the night in a dungeon? A voice reachedus from the outskirts of the assembledmultitude, the supers parted respect-deaf man — the otherhigh official of themade his way to the
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this? he asked, in fully, and thepassenger — themorning salute,footlights. What is allItalian. II signore Inglese, began the crin-ging villain. No, no, I cried, desperately; Americano. The greater power snatched my pass-port and pointed out the seal of ourblessed country to the self - importantofficial. To be sure, Americano, he affirmed. Ah, Americano, faltered the littlecomandante. Oh, Americano, echoed the crowd,melting away. Thanks, shrieked I to the deaf gen-tleman, in his native tongue. Not at all, said the deaf official tome, in mine. Lie was on the boat going back; henever stayed on his estate more than a He made fine Lobster-pots day. He was a good fellow—not deafat all—had to leave his bride in Albano,and was blue on the way over. Afterour late dinner in the saloon he unrav-elled the plot of the little farce that Ivebeen mixed up in. The little comedy,I should rather say, with a touch ofpathos running through it. Its all thefault of King Charles Albert, and provesthat

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