Domenico, foreseeing this, had sent his aunt's
fly, driven by her son his cousin; and his aunt and her fly lived in
Castagneto, the village crouching at the feet of San Salvatore, and
therefore, however late the train was, the fly would not dare come home
without containing that which it had been sent to fetch.
Domenico's cousin's name was Beppo, and he presently emerged out
of the dark where Mrs. Arbuthnot and Mrs. Wilkins stood, uncertain what
to do next after the train had gone on, for they could see no porter
and they thought from the feel of it that they were standing not so
much on a platform as in the middle of the permanent way.
Beppo, who had been searching for them, emerged from the dark
with a kind of pounce and talked Italian to them vociferously. Beppo
was a most respectable young man, but he did not look as if he were,
especially not in the dark, and he had a dripping hat slouched over one
eye. They did not like the way he seized their suit-cases. He could
not be, they thought, a porter. However, they presently from out of
his streaming talk discerned the words San Salvatore, and after that
they kept on saying them to him, for it was the only Italian they knew,
as they hurried after him, unwilling to lose sight of their suit-cases,
stumbling across rails and through puddles out to where in the road a
small, high fly stood.
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