Finally, with exasperating deliberateness, one of them turned and announced
that the blue rosette was awarded to number "1104." Andrea's cheeks went
scarlet, and the air was rent by cries of "Urra! Urra!" "Bully for 1104!"
The boy's head swam. CHICO HAD WON. It seemed as if he could scarcely
believe his senses. He looked around for his uncle only to find he had
leaped the railing and was shaking hands with the judges, and pointing
to Andrea as the owner of the bird. On every side could be heard excited
comments, and the American, just behind, was holding forth at a great rate:
"I knew it--I knew it all the time; he doesn't make the show some of 'em
do, but look at his breast! Look at the length of his wings, and his eye!
There isn't a bird here with such a keen eye as he has! Then, did you watch
him? He wasn't half as scared as the other birds! Just kind of bored by the
performance! One can see he has a strong heart, and that's what counts in
a homer! Why, bless me, I'd like to get hold of that bird. Is the owner
anywhere around?"
It was then Pietro reappeared, jubilant, of course. He wrung the boy's hand
until it ached, at the time exclaiming, "You're wanted on every side; you
can take your pick of chances to sell your bird, and if you ever wish to
engage as a trainer of pigeons, the way is open to you!"
When Andrea presented his metal tag for "1104," the crowd fairly closed in
upon him, shouting offers. Altogether it was a great triumph, but he felt
tired, and his head ached so that it was a distinct relief when Pietro,
looking at his watch, declared there wasn't a moment to lose if he intended
to catch the noon train for Venice!
He was glad it was over, and all the way down the tree-lined avenue, he
kept looking through the cracks of the basket, as if to assure himself that
Chico was really there.
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