He took his _gusla_ and moved his bow gently over its single string, while he sang of "Mustapha who came riding on a dapple gray stallion, with thirty Pashas as his escort. He struck a glass of wine from the hand of a Servian hero, who vowed that he would shed the black blood of the Turk," which, after many monotonous verses, he did. "Signor, I can't sing very well--ah, there it is again!" While he had been singing about Mustapha, who died so many years ago, the phonograph bawled lustily about "Tammany, Tammany," which, unfortunately, is very much alive. I made my peace with the _guslar_ by putting into his hand a liberal fee; then I followed the sound of the phonograph which had been switched from "Tammany" to the song of "A nice young man, that lives in Kalamazoo." On the lower floor of a house in one of the small streets which divide the Stradona, I discovered the phonograph and its owner, a man neither of the nobility nor noble. His knowledge of America extended as far as Brooklyn and the Austro-Italian docks, near which he had established a boarding-house. Of course, he had come home rich, and only for a visit. "Who could live in Ragusa after Brooklyn?" He told me that he made a great deal of money selling liquor, and acknowledged that he sold it without a license. Besides that, the sailors brought over various articles for which he found a ready market. His case would not be worth recording were it not for the fact that he may be looked upon as a man who has been spoiled by his sojourn with us. I doubt, though, that there was anything to spoil; evidently, he was a man of poor breeding and low moral standards. In America, he had found an outlet for his evil tendencies, and a bad business which offered opportunities for lawlessness. His daughters were more interesting than he; for they came back perfect strangers, into the environment which they had left as children. They had quite forgotten Italian and spoke Serbo-Slavic very poorly; while their English was typical. "Golly! But Ragusa is a bum town!" The Adriatic shore could not be compared with the sea they knew, bordered as it was by Coney Island. "No, sir-ree! Give me Coney Island, and you can have this two for a cent, Gravoosa." And I suppose, the peninsula of Lapad also, circled by palms and olives and set in a sea of turquoise blue. When I mentioned the _guslar_, one of the girls said that he "might make a hit at Coney Island as a side-show." "Were there many Dalmatians in America?" I asked the father. "You bet! They have gone from along the whole ---- coast, and there is one ---- little town near Lucin Piccolo where there is not an able-bodied man left. They'll all come over when they get the ---- money. The more come the better for me." His place was the centre to which they came and from which they radiated. "What do they do in America?" I asked. "Oh! any old thing. It all depends. There is one back here now."