That he took snuff in great quantities was apparent.
Otherwise he was neither very dirty nor very clean, but his thumbs
had that peculiar shape which seems to be the result of constantly
rolling pills. Meschini stopped before him.
"Sor Arnoldo, good-day," said the chemist, scrutinising his
friend's face curiously.
"Good-day, Sor Tiberio," replied the librarian. "Will you let me
come in for a little moment?" There seemed to be an attempt at a
jest in the question, for the apothecary almost smiled.
"Padrone," he said, retiring backwards through the narrow door. "A
game of scopa to-day?"
"Have you the time to spare?" inquired the other, in a serious
tone. They always maintained the myth that Tiberio Colaisso was a
very busy man.
"To-day," answered the latter, without a smile, and emphasising
the word as though it defined an exception, "to-day, I have
nothing to do. Besides, it is early."
"We can play a hand and then we can dine at Cicco's."
"Being Friday in Advent, I had intended to fast," replied the
apothecary, who had not a penny in his pocket "But since you are
so good as to invite me, I do not say no."
Meschini said nothing, for he understood the situation, which was
by no means a novel one. His friend produced a pack of Italian
cards, almost black with age.
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