You have really a fine
bird, my boy, and I would suggest that it might be well to exhibit him at
some pigeon show. There's to be one at Verona next week."
Andrea's head swam. What was his uncle saying? Go to Verona? Exhibit Chico?
Impossible! Well he knew there was no money in the little home to pay for
any such expenditure, but Pietro was not yet through.
"Your father and mother have treated me right royally ever I've been in
Venice, and I am sure they will not deny me this opportunity to make
some return. It will not cost you a single lira. What say you, will you
accompany me? I happen to be going in that direction and can arrange to
stop over as well as not."
Andrea caught his uncle's hands in a paroxysm of joy. In his wildest dreams
he had never thought of ever going anywhere outside of Venice, and now, to
be thus calmly discussing an errand like this, it seemed as if he could
scarcely believe his ears.
Then Pietro, taking for granted that the matter was settled as far as
Andrea was concerned, that very evening broached the plan to the boy's
father and mother, overruling all their objections with the result that the
following Monday found the two travelers, with Chico in his basket, on the
train bound for Verona.
It is an interesting trip for any one through the plain towns of northern
Italy, and, needless to state, not the slightest detail of the passing
landscape was lost on Andrea. Not once did he take his eyes from the car
window save occasionally to look through the cracks of the basket into
Chico's bright eyes, as if to assure himself that the bird was still there.
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