One hour later, with his hat jauntily set on the side of his head,effectually concealing the wound, Sam was walking on Third street, infront of the "Plaza" blocks, where several vegetable vendorsrendezvous preparatory for their morning's work. Several bustlingwomen, hotel stewards and others were out early, marketing. As hewended his way through the bargain-driving throng, the loud voice ofan olive-skinned huckster standing on the rear footboard of hisheavily-laden wagon, attracted his attention. It was a covered,one-horse express wagon, common on the city streets, and contained amotley assortment of oranges, bruised bananas, melons and the like.
He was putting in a paper bag some bananas he had sold to a woman, whostood by, at the same time talking volubly--evidently in an effort tofend off her too curiously searching eyes from the over-ripe fruit.
"Eesa good-a da lady. Nice-a da ripe-a."
"Oh, they are too ripe! Put in those other ones, they don't look sosoft."
"Eesa note-a da soft-a; only a da black-a da skin. Look-a," and hepeeled a diminutive banana.
"How nice and clean those are in that wagon over there. I think I'llbuy some of them. You needn't mind putting those up for me."
"Sacre, Tar-rah-rah! Eesa beg-a da pardon, good-a da lady. Take eemall for a ten-a da cent-a," and he thrust the bag of fruit into herhands. "Eesa 'chink' wagon. Show all-a da good-a side, hide-a darotten side. Da morrow, Eesa sell-a da turnoppsis, carrottsis,cababages, every kind-a da veg-a-ta-bles. Some-a time Eesa black-a daboots. Saw da ood. Do anyting gett-a da mon. Go back-a da sunnyItaly."
He was so insistent, with fear of being made a subject for coarseremonstrance, she paid him his price and departed. Whereupon he againbegan to bawl out in his peculiar Dago dialect: "Or-ran-ges! Ba-nans!Nice-a da ripe-a banans. Ten-a cents-a doz-z. Me-lo-nas!War-ter-me-lo-nas! Nice-a da ripe-a Musha Me-lonas!" and he suddenlylowered his voice on observing Sam halt in front of him.
"Eesa tenna cent-a da one. Nice-a da ripe-a, my friend. Take-a eem ada home, two for-a da fifteen-a da centa." And he handled a couple ofsmall melons.
"Sacre, da damn," and his voice again rose to a high pitch, as heshouted: "Me-lo-nas! Ba-nans! Nice-a da ripe-a da Ba-nans. Tenn-acents-a doz!"
The peculiar idioms of the fellow, and his manner of delivery seemedstrangely familiar, and as Sam moved along slowly, a pace or two,rumaging his brain for identification, he suddenly remembered the oldcripple at his uncle's reception, and also, only last night, themysterious stranger in the park.
It may be pertinent to remark that Jack Shore had obtained most of hisdago dialect from a close study of this very man. The similarity ofspeech and voice, therefore, was accountable for Sam's mistake ofidentification.
A moment later, among a passing throng, Sam stopped and pretended topick up a small copper-colored medal appended to a bit of soiledribbon. He halted and ostentatiously displayed it, turning it over andover in his hands while examining it. It attracted the attention of anItalian nearby, who at once claimed the medal.
"If it is yours, no doubt you can describe certain marks which appearon its surface?"
"I don-a have to. Eets a Garibaldi! Giv-a da me!"
"What else?" Sam pressed for more definite information, for heimmediately became convinced that this claimant was not the realowner.
The word Garibaldi attracted a second Italian, a short, fat man, withhuge, flat face, who was at once apprised of the find. He asked Sam tolet him have it for examination.
Sam refused to let it pass from his hands, explaining that this manhad claimed it, but seemingly was unable to identify it. "I willdeliver it to the officer," and he beckoned a policeman to approach.
There followed instantly a lively colloquy between the two Italians,the second one declaring it belonged to Giuseppe--for he had seen himwith it, and he turned to Sam.
"That man," indicating the fruit vendor, on express wagon licensenumber 346, "is own it. I'm sure he will it tell-a you so," and heshouted, "Giuseppe!"
Giuseppe heard and shouted back, "Ta-rah-rah!"
As they moved toward him the short man continued to address Sam. "Hisfadder was wit Garibaldi at Palestrino."
"Giuseppe, have you lost your fadder's medal?"
Giuseppe had stepped from his wagon to the curb. With a surprised lookhe instantly replied, "No! Eesa len eem to deeza fren."
"When you len eem?" the short, fat man asked.
"Eesa bout five-six day. Why for youse-a ax deeze-a question?"
There was no mistaking the fact that Giuseppe's frank responseconveyed the truth.
Sam believed him.
The short man again spoke. "This man pick eem up there. It belong toyou. Ask eem for it."
"Geeve it-a da me, boss."
"This man has claimed it as his. Yet he cannot identify it," repliedSam. "Now, to prove it is yours, tell me its size, and the letters onits two sides."
"Eesa bout as big as-a deeze." And Giuseppe produced an Americanquarter dollar. "Look-a da close. Eesa one-a da side 'Emanual Rex.'Below eet a Garibaldi. In-a da middle eesa solidar holding a flag."
"So far, good!" exclaimed Sam, eyeing the man searchingly andcommitting to memory his every lineament.
Giuseppe continued, "Eesa da odder side, 'Palestrino, MDCCCXLIX.' In ada middle, 'Liber.'"
"Correct!" said Sam.
"What color is the bit of ribbon?" asked the policeman.
"Eesa be da red. A leetle-a da faded," was the answer.
Sam was convinced that Giuseppe was the real owner of the medal. Apossible important discovery. And he smiled as their eyes met full,face to face. And the Italian smiled at Sam's open-faced frankness;but utterly unsuspecting the splendidly concealed satisfaction thatprompted the smile from Sam.
"Where does the man live to whom you loaned this?" asked Sam.
Giuseppe appeared puzzled. He looked up the street, then down thestreet, but finally said, "I dunno, eesa move away las week."
"Where did he live?"
"In-a da cabin--odder side Nort Pacific Mill, at-a da Giles lak."
"What is his name?"
"George-a da Golda!"
Sam was careful to appear unconcerned, and, to avoid questions thatmight arouse suspicions of something "crooked"--"Well," he continued,"I have no doubt the medal is yours, but it is a valuable souvenir,and as Mr. Golda may have something to say, I shall leave my addresswith this officer." He thereupon handed the officer a card, remarking,"Please file it at your headquarters."
Then again turning to Giuseppe, Sam continued, "You notify Mr. Goldato call at the police station and put in his claim and I will be onhand with the medal at any time the authorities apprise me of Mr.Golda's arrival."
The Italian's disgust was plain and he ejaculated, "Sacre da-be damn!Eesa mak George-a Golda fetch eem back. Garibaldi geeve eet-a mafadder."
Without further question, Sam proceeded on his way to Simm's office.That Giuseppe was not the man Sam was after, appeared certain, butthat he was well acquainted with the fellow, there seemed no doubt.
Giuseppe must be watched, for he would find Golda to get the medalback, as it was evident Giuseppe treasured it as an heirloom.
While deeply engrossed on this line of thought, Sam was starting downThird street on his way to Detective Simms' office, and had nearlyreached Alder street when his reverie was interrupted by a familiarvoice, exclaiming, "Good marnin', sor!"
"How are you?" responded Sam, recognizing Smith.
"Sure, I'm failin' foine, axcipt"--and a wistful look came into hiseyes--"axcipt for a sore spot in me heart. God shield her!" and he benthis head reverently.
Sam knew full well the object of Smith's allusion, and saidsympathetically, "You share in the sorrow of your house?"
"Indade: I do, sor! Tin years ave I known her swate disposition. Sure,didn't I drive her coach to the church whin she married him? And shewas kind to my poor wife, too, whin she suffered betimes widbrankites. God rest her soule! She's wid the angels now! But I seeyeese do be hurted!"
"A bruise!
An accident last night, but it's nothing, I guess! Are youout for a bracer this morning?"
"Just a little sthrole, wid me eye open for signs."
"Signs of what?"
"Oh, the dinsity of the cratchur! Sure, I do be always lookin' fer thelittle wan."
"Why don't you search the river?" suggested Sam significantly; "hermother says she is drowned."
"Yis! Poor woman! And she belaives it, too, so she do. But says I tomyself, says I, some blackguard thaif has sthole the little sunbeam ofher heart, which do be nearly broken entirely, so it do!" and Smithturned his head away to hide the tears that came unbidden to his eyes.
"Do you think so?"
"I do."
"Do you?"
"I do, by me faith, I do, and ave I could lay me hands on the wan whois raysponsible fer it, sure there'd be somethin' doin'!"
An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West Page 14