ready to help when no help was needed, his old felt hat held out as he bowed after the un-needed act. “He’ll take you to the vaporetto. There’s one in twenty minutes.”
“The hell with it,” the Colonel said. “Take us to the Gritti.”
“Con piacere,” the boatman said.
The Colonel and Jackson lowered themselves into the launch which looked like a speed boat. It was radiantly varnished and lovingly kept and was powered with a marine conversion of a tiny Fiat engine that had served its allotted time in the car of a provincial doctor and had been purchased out of one of the grave-yards of automobiles, those mechanical elephant cemeteries that are the one certain thing you may find in our world near any populated center, and been reconditioned and reconverted to start this new life on the canals of this city.
“How is the motor doing?” the Colonel asked. He could hear her sounding like a stricken tank or T.D., except the noises were in miniature from the lack of power.
“So-so,” the boatman said. He moved his free hand in a parallel motion.
“You ought to get the smallest model Universal puts out. That’s the best and lightest small marine engine I know.”
“Yes,” the boatman said. “There are quite a few things I should get.”
“Maybe you’ll have a good year.”
“It’s always possible. Lots of pescecani come down from Milano to gamble at the Lido. But nobody would ride twice in this thing on purpose. As a boat, it is fine, too. It is
