"When I bet it will be with my equal," he said, icily. A laugh of derision followed, in which Marco joined. The boy evidently thought the champion was afraid to risk his own money and make his word good. Boys of twenty often have such standards. "Bet with Francesco, then, Signore Zanaletto," cried the stevedore. "He is twice your equal." "Yes, bring him here," answered Luigi, quietly. Half a dozen men, led by the big stevedore, made a rush for the Caffè Beneto. While they were gone, Marco, with Amalia and her mother, kept their places beside Luigi's table, chatting together in low tones. Luigi's refusal to bet with the stevedore and his willingness to bet with his opponent had unsettled Marco's mind all the more. Marriage, with him as with most of the people of his class, meant just money enough to pay the priest and to defray expenses of existence for a month. He would take his chances after that. They might both go to work again then, she back to her beads and he to his boat, but they would have had their holiday, and a holiday is the one thing valued above all others by most Venetians. Should he lose, however, he must give up the girl for the present--the prettiest in all the quarter. And then perhaps Beppo Cavalli's son might find favor again in her eyes. Amalia's anxiety was none the less keen. She had thrown over Cavalli's son for Marco, and if anything should go wrong the whole quarter would laugh at her. The two continued to ply Luigi with questions: as to who would win the toss for position; whether the wind would be against them; whether the water would be rough where the tide cut around the point of San Giorgio--all of which Marco, being a good boatman, could have settled for himself had his mind been normal. As they talked on, Luigi read their minds. Reason and common sense had evidently made no impression on the boy; he was not to be influenced in that way. Something stronger and more obvious, some demonstration that he could understand, was needed. Amalia's mother was his friend, and had been for years; what he could do to help her he would, no matter at what cost. The throng parted again, and the stevedore, out of breath, forced his way into the circle. "The great Francesco says he comes at no man's call. He is a Nicolletti. If any Castellani wants to see him he must come to _him_. He will wait for you at the Beneto." A shout went up, and a rush to avenge the insult was only stopped by Luigi gaining his feet and raising his hand. "Tell him," he said, in a clear voice, loud enough for everyone to hear, "that there is no need of his saying he is a Nicolletti; we would know it from his message. Come, boy, I'll show you of what stuff this gentleman is made."