Crazy Radio eBooks

"You don't know them, Signore. I say--they are canaglia. Where shall I
drive you?"
Artois hesitated, passing in mental review the various ristoranti on
the hill.
"Take me to the Ristorante della Stella," he said, at length.
Pasqualino cracked his whip, and drove once more merrily onward.
When Artois came to the ristorante, which was perched high up on the
side of the road farthest from the sea, he had almost all the tables
to choose from, as it was still early in the evening, and in the
summer the Neapolitans who frequent the more expensive restaurants
usually dine late. He sat down at a table in the open air close to the
railing, from which he could see a grand view of the Bay, as well as
all that was passing on the road beneath, and ordered a dinner to be
ready in half an hour. He was in no hurry, and wanted to finish his
cigar.
There was a constant traffic below. The tram-bell sounded its
reiterated signal to the crowds of dusty pedestrians to clear the way.
Donkeys toiled upward, drawing carts loaded with vegetables and fruit.


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