And these doctors are so dreadfully
distrustful. How shall we cheat them? ... I have it, I have it!"
And he elaborated the following stratagem:
"I go on ahead of you, alone, leading the two mules. You follow, out of
sight, behind. And what happens? When I reach the doctor, he asks slyly:
'Well, and how did you enjoy the festival this year?' Then I say:
'Not this year, doctor; alas, no festival for me! I've been with an
Englishman collecting beetles in the forest, and see? here's his riding
mule. He walks on behind - oh, quite harmless, doctor! a nice gentleman,
indeed - only, he prefers walking; he really likes it, ha, ha, ha! - - "
"Why mention about my walking?" I interrupted. The lady-mule was still a
sore subject.
"I mention about your not riding," he explained graciously, "because it
will seem to the doctor a sure sign that you are a little" - here he
touched his forehead with a significant gesture - "a little like some
other foreigners, you know. And that, in its turn, will account for your
collecting beetles. And that, in its turn, will account for your not
visiting the Madonna. You comprehend the argument: how it all hangs
together?"
"I see. What next?"
"Then you come up, holding one beetle in each hand, and pretend not to
know a word of Italian - not a word! You must smile at the doctor, in
friendly fashion; he'll like that.
