"Of what?"

"Like the professor, of the old days-of the founding of this wonderful city by a mere handful of refugees, who fled before the devastating, barbarian army of Attila, well named the 'Scourge of G.o.d.' How little could they have dreamed-those terror-stricken refugees-of the wonderful future of this city of a hundred islands! I am dreaming of Venice at the height of her glory, of the power of the Doges, of the senators in their splendid robes, of battles and conquests, of riches and splendor, of pompous pageants, of Ascension Day, when amid the roar of cannon, the shouts of the people, and the throb of music, the Doge in his barge of gold flung a golden ring into the blue waves, announcing the wedding of Venice and the sea. Yes, I am dreaming-dreaming!"

"And while you dream, pard," said Brad, "dream some of the dark deeds, the crimes, the Bridge of Sighs, the Council of Ten--"

A strange, half-startled exclamation came from the gondolier. He had paused, clutching his oar, leaning forward-apparently paying attention to their words for the first time. He could speak a little English, but Professor Gunn addressed him in Italian:

"What's the matter, Reggio?"

"The boys, signor."

"What of them?"

"They talk too much. It is not well. They should be more careful."

"Careful? I do not understand you, Reggio. Why should they be careful?"

"I hear them speak of the Ten," whispered Reggio, leaning forward. "It is very dangerous, signor. Nothing should be spoken."

"Still I do not understand you," persisted the amazed old pedagogue.

"The time of the Council of Ten is past forever. There is now no longer danger that a citizen of Venice may be secretly denounced to the council, secretly tried and secretly executed. We know that at one time the despotism of this council was so great that even the Doge himself became a mere instrument in the hands of that body of tyrants. Now, however, there is no council--"

The agitation of Reggio had increased as Gunn was speaking, until now it became absolutely painful to behold. He was trembling violently, and with shaking hand he entreated the old man to be silent.

"You know not, signor-you know not!" he whispered. "Beware what you say!

If you continue to talk, I must decline to carry you in my gondola-you and the boys. We must part. I am a poor man. I need the money you pay me for my services. But most I need my life, not for myself alone, but for Teresa, my sister."

"Man," said Zenas, "you must be crazy! What harm could speaking of--"

"I pray you no more, signor-no more!"

"Well, wouldn't that beat you!" said Buckhart, who understood a little Italian, and had succeeded in getting the drift of the talk. "What do you think of it, pard?"

"I do not know what to think," confessed d.i.c.k, quite as much surprised and bewildered as Professor Gunn. "It is most remarkable. The man seems frightened. He actually pretends that we may place his life in peril by our words."

"It may be some kind of a trick, d.i.c.k."

"What kind of a trick can it be?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure watching out constant for tricks by these dagoes. They're a slippery set, and they seem to think travelers are fair and legitimate game for plucking."

"Not all of them, Brad."

"No, not all; but you know Naples is called 'the city of thieves,' and we certain found it that. This fellow has appeared a heap decent, and--"

"Just so. I've taken a liking to him. He's positively handsome, and he seems honest. I've urged the professor to retain him while we remain in Venice. But now--"

"We can't even discuss the history of the city in his presence."

All effort to induce Reggio to explain proved unavailing. He declined to explain, and he continued to urge them-in whispers-to talk of something else.

"I suppose we had better humor him," said Gunn. "I can't understand it, but just to please him we'll drop it now."

"I sure judge he has a streak of the daffy in him," nodded Brad.

The silver moon rose wondrously fair. The evening was cool, still not cold. The professor and the boys drew some wraps about their shoulders, having come prepared for the change in the atmosphere.

In the moving gondolas lights began to twinkle and gleam. Soft laughter floated over the water.

Reggio's oar moved silently in the water, and the gondola glided through alternating patches of moonlight and shadow, glory and gloom.

Beneath the moon, Venice was indeed at her best. The defects of age, seen in the broad light of day, were now hidden by a silver veil. In places lights gleamed through the cas.e.m.e.nts.

"Pard," said Buckhart, after a long silence, "I'm a whole lot glad you were expelled from Fardale!"

"What's that?" exclaimed d.i.c.k, surprised. "Glad I was expelled?"

"Sure!" nodded the Texan grimly. "If you hadn't been expelled, we'd not be here together now."

"That's true enough."

"Of course I'm plenty bitter on Chet Arlington, but I opine his day is coming. The professor will look out for that, all right. You'll return to old Fardale in triumph after--"

"We'll return together, Brad."

"Yes, we'll return together-after we've seen a right good lot of this amazing old world, and I allow you'll be received back with high acclaim. I can see it now. I can see big Bob, Obediah, Chip, Gardner, Darrel, Flint, Smart, and all the rest of them, welcoming you back. Just to think of it stirs me some, you bet! There'll be something doing at Fardale that day, d.i.c.k-you hear me gently gurgle! Then back to the diamond, the gridiron, the gymnasium-back to all things we love! And the yarns we'll have to tell! The things we'll have seen! Whoop! I'm sure busting just to think of it!"

Professor Gunn, who had been listening to the words of the boys, now observed:

"Youth and antic.i.p.ation of the glories of the future! Two of the most joyous things in this old world, boys. Do you know, I'm glad myself that d.i.c.k was expelled. Remarkable, eh? Astonishing and shameful confession, hey? Well, it's the truth. Why am I glad? Because it brought me the companionship of you two lads, something I needed. Yes, I needed it. I'm a pretty old man, boys, and I find myself inclined to look backward instead of forward. Instead of thinking of the joys to come, I find I'm inclined to think of the pleasures past. Now, that's bad-very bad. When a man gets to living in the past, he's in his decline-he's beginning to decay-he's pretty near the end of the road. It's natural for progress to constantly look forward. Looking backward means retrogression. You boys have seemed to arouse in me the looking-forward spirit which I needed.

I, too, think of the future and the pleasures to come. Therefore you have done me no end of good. Hum! ha! Ha! hum! I hope I've not interfered with your enjoyment of this glorious night by my little lecture."

"What's the matter with Reggio?" questioned d.i.c.k in a low tone. "He still seems excited. He keeps looking back, and--Why does he send the gondola darting in here so suddenly?"

They had turned with a sudden swing from the broad ca.n.a.l to go speeding swiftly into a very dark and very narrow pa.s.sage between high buildings.

"Why did you turn in here, Reggio?" demanded the professor, in Italian.

"Signor, it is best," was the half-spoken, half-whispered answer.

"Question me not, but trust me. Soon we will be again on the Grand Ca.n.a.l."

"I certain believe the man is some bughouse," said Buckhart. "He's sure acting and talking a heap queer to-night."

"I think he is perfectly trustworthy," declared d.i.c.k; "and he's the handsomest gondolier in all Venice."

"You picked him out, pard, because he was handsome and graceful."

"No; because I believed I could read honor and sincerity in his face. I believed he could be trusted."