le Cure' (they always call me
that), 'please excuse me--give me time. I have only been able to get
fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that's all I've been able to
scrape up.' I, in my astonishment, said, 'Fifty-five francs! What do
you mean, you rascal!' 'I mean sixty-five,' he replied; 'but as for the
hundred francs you asked me to give you, it's not possible.' 'What! you
villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don't know who you are.' Then
he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he was
summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on pain
of having his house burned and his cows killed by Giocanto
Castriconi--that's my name. And they had been vile enough to forge
my signature! What annoyed me most was that the letter was written in
_patois_, and was full of mistakes in spelling--I who won every prize at
the university! I began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twist
round and round. 'Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that you
are!' I said, and I gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feeling
rather better, I went on, 'When are you to take the money to the spot
mentioned in the letter?' 'This very day.
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