Marc'antonio's conduct of the ensuing bargain was nothing short of
masterly. The stranger--a fishmonger's runner--turned as he met us
and trotted alongside, shaping his hands like a trumpet and bawling
down his price. Marc'antonio, affecting a slight deafness, signalled
to him to bawl louder, hunched his shoulders, shook his head
vehemently, held up ten fingers, then eight, then (after a long and
passionate protest from above) eight again. By this time two other
traffickers had joined the contest, and with scarcely a word on his
side Marc'antonio kept them going, as a juggler plays with three
balls. Not until our boat's nose grated alongside the landing was
the bargain concluded, and the first runner, a bag of silver in his
fist, almost tumbled upon us down the slippery stairs in his hurry to
clinch it.
I stepped ashore and held out a hand to the Princess who, in her
character of _paesana_, very properly ignored it. Luckily the
courtesy escaped notice. Stephanu was making fast the boat; the
runner counting his coins into Marc'antonio's hand.
The Princess and I mounted the stairs and, after a pretence to loiter
and await our comrades, strolled off towards the city around the
circuit of the quay.
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