Sybert paused on the threshold and glanced about from face to face. Three or four men were sitting on low benches about a long table, drinking wine and talking. The one who was in the act of speaking as Sybert appeared in the door paused with his mouth still open. The others, recognizing him, however, called out a cordial ‘_Buona sera_, Signor Siberti,’ while Tarquinio hastened to place a chair and bring a tall rush-covered flask of red Frascati wine. Sybert returned their salutations, and sat down with a glance of inquiry at the excited stranger. Tarquinio ceremoniously presented him as Girolamo Mendamo of Naples, and he ended his introduction with the assurance, ‘Have no fear; he is a good fellow and one of us,’ and left it to be conjectured as to whether the compliment referred to Sybert or the Neapolitan. The latter took it to refer to Sybert, and after a momentary hesitation picked up his discourse where he had dropped it. ‘Ah, and when the poor fishermen are sickening for a little salt and try to get it from the sea water without paying, what do the police do? They throw them into prison. The Camorra used to protect people from the police, but now the Camorra no longer dares to lift its head and the people have no protectors. It used to be that when the police wanted more money it satisfied them to raise the taxes, but now they must raise the price of bread and macaroni as well.’ He had commenced in a low tone, but as he proceeded his voice rose higher and higher. ‘And last week a great crowd broke open the bakeries and carried off the flour, and the police were frightened and put down the price—but not enough. Then the people threatened again, and _ecco!_ all the tax was taken off. That is the way to deal with the police; they are cowards, and it is only fear that makes them just.’ The man laughed hoarsely and looked around for approval. The others nodded. ‘_Già_, he speaks the truth. It is only fear that makes them just.’ ‘They are cowards—cowards,’ repeated the Neapolitan. ‘If all the people in every city of Italy would do the same, there would soon be no more taxes and no more police.’ ‘I am afraid that you are mistaken there, my friend,’ Sybert broke in. ‘There will always be taxes and always be police. But it’s true, as you say, that the taxes are too heavy and the police are unjust. The time hasn’t come, though, when you can gain anything by rioting and revolutions. The government’s backed by the army, and it’s too strong for you. You may possibly frighten it into lowering the wheat tax for a time, but it will be at a mighty heavy cost to the ones who are found out.’ ‘Who are you?’ the man demanded suspiciously. ‘I am an American who would like to see Italy as happy and prosperous and well governed as the United States.’ Sybert smiled inwardly at the ideal he was holding up. ‘Ah—you’re a spy!’ the man cried, with a quick scowl.