The boys now came down in their expectations. Upon Maso's second visit to the seaport of Tuscany it was agreed that he should take any employment that was offered; "for of course it is but a temporary thing," said Luigi, grandly. He remembered Maso's mother, and to him Casa Corti, at whose heels, as it were, he had lived, was a highly aristocratic place of abode. Luigi was assistant in a shop where glass-ware was sold; for an hour this morning he was free to accompany his friend in his quest, and together they edged their way along in the narrow line of shade on one side of the hot, white streets. But it made no difference whether Luigi went in first and offered his North American candidate, Maso following a few minutes afterwards, or whether Maso made his demand in person, Luigi entering later, with his best smile, to serve as backer; no one showed any eagerness to secure the services of the small, narrow-chested boy. "Say, Maso, couldn't you _look_ a little different?" suggested Luigi, anxiously, as they came out of an office, where, as he was last, he had overheard the epithet "sullen-faced" applied to his American friend. The two boys spoke Italian; Luigi knew no English. "Why, I look as I'm made. Everybody looks as they're made, don't they?" said Maso, surprised. "Ah, but expression is a beautiful thing--a sympathetic countenance," said Luigi, waving his hand. "Now you--you might smile more. Promise me to try a smile at the next place where we go in to ask." "Like this?" said Maso. And stopping, he slapped his leg violently, and gave a deep, long, sardonic laugh. "I saw a man once who did it like that," he explained. "Well! If you should go in and ask for a place and do that--well, I don't know _what_ they would do to you!" said Luigi, standing still, amazed. "I didn't want to do it; you made me," answered Maso, nettled. "I told you to smile with an amiability--a sweetness; I didn't tell you to slap your leg and yell out like that," Luigi remonstrated, taking off his hat and wiping his hot forehead. "Come; here's a window with nice looking-glasses; practice a little, and I'll stand behind and tell you when it's right." And Maso, standing close to the window, smiled with an amiability--a sweetness. The reflection of his freckled face in the tilted mirror, giving back these grins, was something unearthly. But both of the boys were far too much in earnest to notice that. "This one will do, I think," said Luigi, doubtfully--"at least, it's the best. I've got to go now, but look in at the shop before you take the train back. Are you hungry? I know a place where things are good and not dear; I'll take you there myself." This was Luigi's Italian hospitality; he would show Maso his own particular _trattoria_. But Maso was not hungry. At three o'clock he appeared at Luigi's shop. Luigi was dusting goblets. "Well?" he said, inquiringly. Maso shook his head. "Didn't you smile?"