But listen _caro,_ you must have _piombo._ The line will lie flat on the water. Peduzzi’s day was going to pieces before his eyes. You must have _piombo._ A little is enough. Your stuff is all clean and new but you have no lead. I would have brought some. You said you had everything. The y. g. looked at the stream discoloured by the melting snow. I know, he said, we’ll get some _piombo_ and fish tomorrow. At what hour in the morning? Tell me that. At seven. The sun came out. It was warm and pleasant. The young gentleman felt relieved. He was no longer breaking the law. Sitting on the bank he took the bottle of marsala out of his pocket and passed it to Peduzzi. Peduzzi passed it back. The y. g. took a drink of it and passed it to Peduzzi again. Peduzzi passed it back again. Drink, he said, drink. It’s your marsala. After another short drink the y. g. handed the bottle over. Peduzzi had been watching it closely. He took the bottle very hurriedly and tipped it up. The grey hairs in the folds of his neck oscillated as he drank his eyes fixed on the end of the narrow brown bottle. He drank it all. The sun shone while he drank. It was wonderful. This was a great day after all. A wonderful day. _Senta caro!_ In the morning at seven. He had called the young gentleman _caro_ several times and nothing had happened. It was good marsala. His eyes glistened. Days like this stretched out ahead. It would begin again at seven in the morning. They started to walk up the hill toward the town. The y. g. went on ahead. He was quite a way up the hill. Peduzzi called to him. Listen _caro_ can you let me take five lira for a favour? For today? asked the young gentleman frowning. No, not today. Give it to me today for tomorrow. I will provide everything for tomorrow. _Pane, salami, formaggio,_ good stuff for all of us. You and I and the signora. Bait for fishing, minnows, not worms only. Perhaps I can get some marsala. All for five lira. Five lira for a favour. The young gentleman looked through his pocket book and took out a two lira note and two ones. Thank you _caro_. Thank you, said Peduzzi in the tone of one member of the Carleton Club accepting the Morning Post from another. This was living. He was through with the hotel garden, breaking up frozen manure with a dung fork. Life was opening out. Until seven o’clock then _caro,_ he said, slapping the y. g. on the back. Promptly at seven. I may not be going, said the young gentleman putting his purse back in his pocket. What, said Peduzzi. I will have minnows Signor. _Salami,_ everything. You and I and the Signora. The three of us. I may not be going, said the y. g., very probably not. I will leave word with the padrone at the hotel office. MY OLD MAN MY OLD MAN