Something was going to happen, but for a few moments he could
not think what it was. Then with a rush he remembered. He had promised to
show Chico to his uncle. Since the suggestion had been made he had not been
able to dismiss it from his mind and, even while watching the bursting
rockets the evening before, he had found himself wondering what Pietro
could have meant by his mysterious remark, "If the bird is what you say--we
shall see. We shall see!"
Although he liked his uncle immensely, he had not been able entirely to
overcome a certain feeling of awe in his presence, and he shuddered at
thought of many scathing criticisms he had heard him make upon objects
which he had been brought up to regard with veneration. Suppose he should
make fun of Chico! The quick tears started at the thought. Then his eyes
flashed and he sprang out of bed, exclaiming to himself, "I don't care what
he may say, I know he's the finest pigeon in the world!"
This feeling of confidence lasted until they finished breakfast and Pietro
had pushed back his chair, with the remark:
"And now, my boy, we must be off to see that wonderful bird of yours!"
Then his timidity returned, and beset by anxious fears, he walked silently
by his uncle's side.
Pietro was in his most jocund mood that morning, jauntily swinging his
cane, joking about the Rialto as they crossed it, and talking a great deal
about London and Paris. His companion's courage gradually oozed away.
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