Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 159: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Ty me) AMMEP “Y John Frederick CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VERDICT. UT a moment later, when the door opened and the fat stranger appeared, the last vestige of dignity dropped from the square shoulders of Peter. He sprang to his feet and fairly ran upon the stranger, crying: “ Salviati!” His teacher caught him in two pudgy arms. “Pietro! Pietro! Pietro! I have ached to see you as the foot of a bare-legged friar who has trodden twoscore miles aches for the touch of warm water. Pietro, I have learned all! I have learned how you kneeled before the Holy Father and named my trouble when you might have asked a thou- sand ducats for yourself, Noble Pietro!” “Tush, Salviati—you are fat, and grown foolish likewise. Sit down. Eat, drink, and tell me what is in your heart.” “ Ttaly is in my heart, dear boy. Italy— white, beautiful Italy! And you, Pietro?” etoam- well. = = > “Well! Do you call it so? No, you are famous, Pietro. I asked of a fat pedler the way to the house of one Messer Peter Warburton. He looked me over with a grin from head to foot—as I am, dusty as you see! ‘ Perhaps, also,’ said the rascal, ‘ you would like to know the way to the Vatican?’ By my heart, I laughed aloud, I was so rejoiced to find you known even to the beg- gars in the streets. “‘T told him I was a friend of yours. Off came his hat as if I had tossed him a coin, and He must needs take me a half-mile on the way and chatter all the time of the great master. Ha, ha, ha! To think that I am a poor hen, and yet I have had the warmth of heart to hatch an eagle!” Peter sat with a smile listening, nodding, remembering. “But the statue—and of Beatrice della Marca!” said Salviati at last, when he had poured forth a whole ocean of words. ‘““We shall go there—at once. My hat, my coat, lad.” ‘“And what of Beatrice, Pietro? You blush? Ha? Well, well! Let us go to see this statue!” With a great anxiety Peter, followed by two of his servants to hold lights, opened the door to his workshop a few minutes later. As a sculptor his opinion of Salviati had fallen much since he had come to Rome and seen the designs of the great masters; but as a critic he knew the Florentine was a man to be respected—even dreaded. Simple as his nature was, he knew that most of the praise he had hitherto received came from men who wished to praise rather to find fault, but the honesty of Salviati was far, far above suspicion. Therefore, when the little man first tossed his hands up and then clasped them to- gether, while he stood in mute admiration before the Venus, Peter’s heart bounded like a horse under the spur. He stepped closer to hear Salviati’s murmurs of delight. “Ves, yes,” he said, ‘ when I left En- gland, 1.thought to find you a great hawk, but I find that my hawk has killed the eagle in the blue of the sky and flown up higher, higher! You shall pass beyond my ken in another year! But where is the whole de- sign? Where is the model? For without the head a statue is like a face without eyes.” This story began in The Argosy for March 1. 501 conmiclooolks.conn