"Howdy?" said Raphael, in his usual voice. "Why, how did you get out?" asked Richling. "Have you escaped?" "No. Just come out for little air. Captain of the prison and me. Not captain, exactly; one of the keepers. Goin' back some time to-night." He stood there in his old-fashioned way, gently smiling, and looking as immovable as a piece of granite. "Have you heard from wife lately?" "Yes," said Richling. "But--why--I don't understand. You and the jailer out together?" "Yes, takin' a little stroll 'round. He's out there in the street. You can see him on door-step 'cross yonder. Pretty drunk, eh?" The Italian's smile broadened for a moment, then came back to its usual self again. "I jus' lef' Kate at home. Thought I'd come see you a little while." "Return calls?" suggested Richling. "Yes, return call. Your wife well?" "Yes. But--why, this is the drollest"-- He stopped short, for the Italian's gravity indicated his opinion that there had been enough amusement shown. "Yes, she's well, thank you. By-the-by, what do you think of my letting her come out here now and begin life over again? Doesn't it seem to you it's high time, if we're ever going to do it at all?" "What you think?" asked Ristofalo. "Well, now, you answer my question first." "No, you answer me first." "I can't. I haven't decided. I've been three days thinking about it. It may seem like a small matter to hesitate so long over"--Richling paused for his hearer to dissent. "Yes," said Ristofalo, "pretty small." His smile remained the same. "She ask you? Reckon you put her up to it, eh?" "I don't see why you should reckon that," said Richling, with resentful coldness. "I dunno," said the Italian; "thought so--that's the way fellows do sometimes." There was a pause. Then he resumed: "I wouldn't let her come yet. Wait." "For what?" "See which way the cat goin' to jump." Richling laughed unpleasantly. "What do you mean by that?" he inquired. "We goin' to have war," said Raphael Ristofalo. "Ho! ho! ho! Why, Ristofalo, you were never more mistaken in your life!" "I dunno," replied the Italian, sticking in his tracks, "think it pretty certain. I read all the papers every day; nothin' else to do in parish prison. Think we see war nex' winter." "Ristofalo, a man of your sort can hardly conceive the amount of bluster this country can stand without coming to blows. We Americans are not like you Italians." "No," responded Ristofalo, "not much like." His smile changed peculiarly. "Wasn't for Kate, I go to Italia now." "Kate and the parish prison," said Richling. "Oh!"--the old smile returned,--"I get out that place any time I want." "And you'd join Garibaldi, I suppose?" The news had just come of Garibaldi in Sicily. "Yes," responded the Italian. There was a twinkle deep in his eyes as he added: "I know Garibaldi." "Indeed!" "Yes. Sailed under him when he was ship-cap'n. He knows me." "And I dare say he'd remember you," said Richling, with enthusiasm.