The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-12-15

ing again. Now they have brought her in, unless what they saw, when they found her, scattered them, rav- ing, through the woods. Now they are trying to sooth Antonio, per haps to wrench a weapon from his hand. Now surely they have no- ticed my absence.
 I cannot imagine what impulse made me rise, at last, and try -hs door again. At my first touch 1t swung open.
 Descending the staircase, I re- entered the hall.
 ~HEY were all seated at the
 supper table, which was now
 = decorated with flowers, with baskets of fruit, with plates of bon bons, and with favors in the form of dolls tricked out like little la dies of the Renaissance. The ser wants wore taiI-coats and white cot ton gloves. Leonello and Leonardo, Lima and Laura, even Antorio, had on the evening" dress appropriate to the twentieth century. But my brain reeled indeed when I saw Fi- tmmetta, her hair done in the last 'arisian style, her low-neck gown the essence of modern chic.
 The company looked at me with tolerant smiles.
 Well" exclaimed Antonio, you lave certainly taken your time! We waited ages for you, then decided that the food was spelling, and fell to. There is your place, old fellow. I'll have the relishes brought back"
 dropped into my chair with a ttud- Leonardo, reaching in front of Lima, took the fabric of my an tlnque costume between thumb and finger.
 Very recherche" was his com- Hient. DO you wear it for a whim ?''
 He is soaking wet" announced Lima compassionately q think ba has been looking at the garden"
 A botanistn' cried Laura. cIap- ping her hands. Will won olive ,I,o some advice. signore? What is the roses 9" SIX Water them with creduIttv nT.a | onella suggested.
 And they all burst ont 1a1ebiro III my face. with the exception of the beautiful Fiamnetta- 6SM EY friend, the sixteenth cen IWE Iury bequeathed to us Flor ehtlnes little of it's cheer Iul cruelty ana something of its pieasure in vendettas. Castine vonr thoughts into a less remote nas+ you may retrieve an impression of your last performance before vo11,. departure from the Florence of o1Ir youth. Need I describe that ner- 1ornance? Its details were cop- celVed and executed with n1ucb +al ehl' II made me, who was it's butt. the laughing stock of our circle for d month Did we children of Boc- cacclo 1npart to you that knack for Practlcal Joking? Remember that tue puplI does not always perma- lehtIy apash his teacher. But come. let us make lasting peace now lf after all these years I managed to catch you off guard, you will never again catch me so. Let us forget our two chagrins in drinking to this pleasant night, which. though I fancy the fact has escaped you, happens to be the First of April"
 While I was still trying to master my feelings, he added: l have forgotten to explain that Lena is the wife of LeoneIIo, our new Michael Angelo, who did that portrait of me in the wig and cos- tune of the Renaissance. Laura, on | the other hand, is the wife of Leo- nardo. As for our heroine, Fiam- metta, she is the bride of your u... worthy Antonio. She has been @a gracious as to marry me between l two of her theatrical seasons: in fact, we are here on our honeymoon. Why the deuce have you never married? A wife might keep you out of many a Imaginable predica- ment."
 Leonello hazarded, "IIe is wait ing to marry some lady who can de- scribe, in her frances, the cuisine of Nebuchadnezzar's palace, or the home-life of tla Queen of Sheba"
 Do no such thing" Antonio inn plored me. And hereafter avoid the supernatural like the plague. May this a air ffsti1 into your phil osophy of life a little healthy skep- ticism. There is no better tonic than laughter for one who has caught the malaria of psychicaI research But even NUta, my Wifes old dresser at the theater, will tell you that laugh ter is precious. You have given her tonight the first out-and- out gulf flaw that she has enjoyed in years. She says it cured her of q crick in the neck"
 The fair Fiammetta, however, made gesture of reproof, then held our her warm hand to me.
 ''No, Antonio,' she protested, "you have not been clever, after all, but wicked. The worst of revenge is this: that it invariably exceeds it's object To what do you owe this triumph? To his solicitude for you, to his trust in you, which you have abused. Also, as I suspect, to his pity for F'iammetta di Foscone, which I have i'll repaid. In fine, we owe the success of this trick to the misuse of fine emotions. That was not the@custom of Messer Gio- vannf Boccacio.' And to me, ''Wiu you forgive us?''
 All the others looked rather chop fallen. But Antonio soon recovered. He retorted:
 If you could have seen what an a 10 nF