It was smooth going over the asphalt of Bayard and Mulberry Streets, and silently the strange caravan trundled along. San Patrizio tolled a late hour for that quarter of early-rising toilers--eleven o’clock--and the sidewalks, which had swarmed with buzzing life earlier in the night, now gave back the echo of but a few heavy footfalls. From Paradise Park the wooing children of Italy had departed to their homes, leaving the benches to all-night lodgers of other climes. Passing the Caffè Good Appetite, the Tomatoes were startled by a mighty chorus of “bravoes” and “vivas,” followed by the clink of wineglasses. It was Signor Di Bello and his boon comrades. The merchant had just announced his betrothal and coming marriage to Juno. CHAPTER XVI THE LAST LADY UNMASKED DAWN began to show the shapes of things an hour after the Tomato outfit had left the environs of Jamaica and struck into a gravel-strewn byway that followed the Long Island Railroad. All night the banker and his faithful helpmeet had pushed the cart through a country sparsely settled in places, but always with a good road under the wheels. Now they had reached the last stage of their journey, and the little passengers, who had fallen asleep on the ferryboat crossing the East River, began to open their eyes. Mike was first to crawl out from under the furniture, and Pat and Biddy appeared soon afterward. They were allowed to get down and stretch their legs, which they did by frisking ahead of the cart and dancing for pure joy at finding themselves in a new and beautiful world. Never before had they seen a piece of Nature larger than the lawn of Paradise. In the delight and wonder of beholding the gloried east they almost forgot to be hungry, but did not, and presently set up a cry for breakfast. Bridget told them they would have to wait until the villa was reached, which would be in a little while, her husband said. Their route now lay directly over the pipe line of the Brooklyn aqueduct, the manhole caps of which projected from the ground at intervals of a hundred yards. To the north and east stretched a level countryside, covered in spots with oaks of scrubby growth. From the low thicket a quail now and then blew his shrill whistle, to the deep bewilderment of the gamins of Mulberry. They would scamper after the mystery and thrash the bushes for it, only to hear the piercing note elsewhere, when the bird had flown away. At last Signor Tomato, who had been peering anxiously into the distance, pointed ahead and exclaimed: “Be praised de Madonna! Ees-a dere! ees-a dere! Now ees-a all right evrytheen.” “Phat’s there?” “De villa Tomato. Ees-a var fine. You not see?” “Upon me sowl I see nothin’ but two big black things that do look like whales.” Domenico put on a grin and said: