"_Ma non--ma non_," he kept on whining, pointing to his highly polished shoes and the mud--with which there was no need for him to come in contact. At this juncture Brown and his gondolier hove in sight, and I gave them the shipwreck signal. While they were coming to my rescue, the _corporale_, again, like a mincing woman, got back into the garden. The gondolier threw me a rope, and then towed me out of my predicament, the _corporale_ watching the maneuvers, cat-like, from his vantage ground above. I waved him adieu, and would not speak to him all of the next day. Brown explained his conduct with the one word--_critica_. If there is anything that Italians dislike, he told me, it is to be surprised by their neighbors in predicaments that make them appear ludicrous. He said that the _corporale_ would have let the canoe rot in her mud berth before he would have subjected himself to the scrutiny of the onlookers in an attempt to save her. The reason he retired to the garden so quickly when Brown appeared was because he saw _critica_ coming his way. I am afraid that a similar fright possessed him several weeks later, when the canoe was blown through the Nicoletto Strait and out into the billowy Adriatic, whence she never returned. I was not present when the accident occurred, but "they" say that the _corporale_ was, and that all that was necessary to save the canoe was to swim a short distance from shore and tow her back. But the "public" was doubtless looking on, and the _corporale_ was afraid of the critical comments and suggestions. I had the most fun with the canoe, while she lasted, in the small, narrow canals in Venice proper. Day after day, I cruised with her in different parts of the city, exploring new routes and sections, lunching where the hour overtook me, and in the evening paddled back to port on the Lido, feeling very nautical and picturesque. The principal fun came when I had to turn corners in the small canals. The gondoliers have regular calls, "To the right," and "To the left," and by rights I should have used them, too. But, somehow, all I could think of when surprised at a turn by an oncoming craft was to cry "Wa-hoo!" at the top of my voice, and then hug the side of some buildings till the danger had passed. The way the gondoliers scolded me was enough to have frightened a prizefighter, but I learned to expect scoldings and not to mind them. On the Riva, where I was wont to forgather with many of them, they finally got to calling me "Wa-hoo." Of one of the Riva gondoliers I made quite an intimate, and when I moved back to Venice from the Lido we were almost daily together, either on the water or in his _sandalo_, or swapping yarns over a glass of wine and _Polenta_ in some _osteria_. On one occasion he came to me and said: "_Signor_, will you not accompany me on a journey to the fine lace and glasshouses in Venice?" I said: "Gladly." He continued: "You will see many fine things in our lace houses and our glass houses."