We had just reached a white river. Its banks were lined with nespole, palms, fig trees, gray asphodels, bushes of green carob. From the top of the mountain one cobweb line of black crossed another; two iron baskets passed each other on the aerial railway, one ascending empty, the other descending laden with shining salt. “What a pleasure to see life, movement, activity after the desolation of Calabria and Messina!” Patsy exclaimed. “_Davvero!_ This should be a rich country; our people are hard working, frugal. We need only a little foreign capital to restore La Sicilia to her ancient greatness. Crispi[1] saw that--if we only had a few such men today!” “I have heard Crispi speak in the Camera--what an orator! Once at Baron Blanc’s I talked with him,” I murmured. “As to capital,” said Patsy, “are your taxes favorable to foreign investors? I met a man last winter from New York representing a syndicate; he had five millions to invest in Sardinian mines. He looked into it, found the taxes prohibitive, and left Italy without spending a cent. All that good money is now invested in the Argentine.” “Taxes! We do not tax lemons as you do in the United States; on the contrary in the summer, when they are necessary to the health of the people, they are sold in our great cities by the Government at less than cost!” “Has us there!” said Patsy. “People in New York are paying forty cents a dozen for lemons while millions of them rot on the trees of Sicily because--on account of our damnable tariff--it’s not worth while to gather them!” We were passing a small forlorn station without stopping. “Behold!” The angry man pointed to a lemon grove that bordered the track. “What a beautiful picture!” The trees were bowed down with the weight of lemons; the ground beneath was yellow with the precious fruit that would lie there till it had turned black with decay. “We have to thank America for that,” said the angry man. “Say something to that rude person,” I whispered to Patsy. “There’s nothing to say; he has us on the hip.” “What does it mean?” “How can you expect a waif of the universe, just back from the Argentine, to know the ins and outs? It’s some beastly log rolling. The lemon-growers in Florida, California,--how do I know what States have swapped votes with some of the big fellows,--you protect me, I’ll protect you!” “Politics, all politics,” roared the father of Teodoro. “_Una porcheria_, mud, mud! I know; my son here has just been defeated at the election by an animal! This one gave each voter five francs. ‘Elect me,’ he said; ‘when I am elected, come back; I will give you five francs more.’ This piggery all comes to us from America. The Signori can tell us. Is there not bribery and rioting at your elections?” “As to bribery,” said Patsy, “I suppose that has existed since the beginning of time. Rioting? The elections go off quietly enough in our town.”