The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1905-04-02

Copyright by the s. S. Mcclure Company
66NMTHAT is it. Giuseppe" said
WhW I, holiday American or
WW holiday Itahan?"
Giuseppe's fruit stand
was situated at the principal corner OF
the suburb where / make my home-a
New Jersey village about an hours ride
from New York-and as 1 passed the
establishment regularly on my way to
and from the city had come to have
some acquaintance with its proprietor.
He was a broad shouldered. athletic
young italian, rather taller than the
average of his race and with a trfffe
more than his share of the national
jauntiness of bearing. In business he
was truly diiigent. Early morning and
late evening found him at his post, and
he was an adept at such practices as
or pushing the bottoms Of baskets sur
reptitiously upward.
What is it, Giuseppe" said I. "holi-
day American or holiday Italian?"
Giuseppe smiled, slightly embarrassed.
I thought. Italian" he answered. HIS
speech, a cross of native idiom and
American slang, was invariably brief
However, as if some further explana-
ton were proper, he added, Birthday"
Ah,' said |, birthday of the king or
the queen, perhaps?"
No. signor." replied Giuseppe.
Birthday OF friend to me-" He regard
ed me for moment out of the corner
OF his eye. Birthday of lady friend"
he added gently
This was manifestly an occasion for
congratulations. and 1 extended them
promptly. But Giuseppe's gaze had
grown distant, and when he turned to
me again to receive the coin due him
Tor the fruit / had selected / saw his
brow was troubled World YER hard,
dis world" said he, and sighed deeply.
The course of Giuseppes love was
evidently INSTRUCTED. / hesitated, and
while l did SO, his need of a confidaDt
came strongly upon him, and he beck
oned me around to the end the
stand, away from passersby. Il show
you" he said.
What he showed me came from the
breast pocket of his corduroy coat,
along with various fruit invoices and
soiled letters with Italian stamps on
them. 1t was an ordinary tintype in a
PINK paper cover on which was printed
the address of photographer in Ma
pies. giuseppe laid ii open proudly.
disclosing the likeness of one Of those
maldens OF round face and trim figure
who bloom SO plentifully in southern
Italy.
Ny expression of such opinions had
the effect of further loosening his
tongue, and he told his story. They
had played together, boy and girl in
the Neapolitan village where they were
born, though she, it appeared, was of a
station something above his own. When
she was left an orphan an uncle had
taken charge of her and her little prop
erty. Here Giuseppe's brow grew black
He, a peasant son, had found small
favor with the guardian.
He say, L want a da mont" he
Kissed. He! A man what you call
oh. l not know. He all time after da
mon. hida da mon, swipa da mon off
everrabOd'i"
"A miser?" 1 suggested.
Yes said Giuseppe. 'Miser sure.
But more like what you call oh,
snakei-pig," He squared his Shout
ders and blew out a long breath. "Ah,
well, Rosa say, Go slow I go slow.
keepa cool-ver' cool. I choke down.
l not nlaka da scrap. But by by I go
back-den-ah!" His pantomime gar
roted the wicked uncle into conclusive
subsection.
However, for the present, the wicked
prospered. Rosa had refused to leave.
but she had secretly promised to wait
Giuseppe had come away to the land OF
gold TO earn the money which should
give him the right to demand her. So
long as she had written to him regular
ly he had worked on bravely, but for
several months there had been no let
tiers. He knew not what to believe. he
had not yet money enough to go back
he was despairing; though today, with
his flags and flowers, he had made an
effort to observe the merry custom of
MS village, where the young folk make