Not far from the imposing City Hall was an ancient red marble Gothic cross
about which were clustered hundreds of what looked like canvas toadstools,
but which were, in reality, immense white umbrellas, sheltering countless
market stalls. Here were gathered a motley collection of all sorts of
things for sale, ranging from boots and shoes to many kinds of provisions
and fruits.
Through all this Pietro walked so fast that his companion had hard work to
keep up with him, and was glad when they finally stopped in front of an
enclosure sheltered by two large umbrellas. Then his heart sank and he
clutched his basket closer as he realized that here was where the pigeon
show would be held, and understood, from what a loud-voiced man was
calling, that the birds were already being entered. He wished--oh, how he
wished--he had not come, and was almost overwhelmed by the thought that he
would be obliged to leave Chico with these chattering strangers.
There was no alternative--already many of the birds were in place. He
could see some of them and realized they were, for the most part, dejected
looking specimens. He touched Pietro's sleeve nervously and inquired
faintly, "Are you sure I shall get him back?"
But on this point his uncle was most reassuring and replied confidently:
"There's nothing at all to worry about. The bird will be perfectly safe.
They'll fasten an aluminum tag about his leg with his number on it and give
you the duplicate.
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