"None, but this of your own, Signore; which is the fastest of all that
passed beneath the Rialto in this day's regatta."
"How knowest thou, friend, aught of the speed of my boat?"
"Signore, I have pulled an oar on the canals of Venice six-and-twenty
years, and I do not remember to have seen a gondola move more swiftly on
them than did this very boat but a few minutes ago, when it dashed among
the feluccas, further down in the port, as if it were again running for
the oar. Corpo di Bacco! There are rich wines in the palaces of the
nobles, that men can give such life to wood!"
"Whither did we steer?" eagerly asked Don Camillo.
"Blessed San Teodoro! I do not wonder, eccellenza, that you ask that
question, for though it is but a moment since, here I see you lying as
motionless on the water as a floating weed!"
"Friend, here is silver--addio."
The gondolier swept slowly onwards, singing a strain in honor of his
bark, while the boat of Don Camillo darted ahead. Mystic, felucca,
xebec, brigantine, and three-masted ship, were apparently floating past
them, as they shot through the maze of shipping, when Gino bent forward
and drew the attention of his master to a large gondola, which was
pulling with a lazy oar towards them, from the direction of the Lido.
Both boats were in a wide avenue in the midst of the vessels, the usual
track of those who went to sea, and there was no object whatever between
them.
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