Thursday, 1st.
MY father wishes me to have some one of my companions come to the house
every holiday, or that I should go to see one of them, in order that I
may gradually become friends with all of them. Sunday I shall go to walk
with Votini, the well-dressed boy who is always polishing himself up,
and who is so envious of Derossi. In the meantime, Garoffi came to the
house to-day,--that long, lank boy, with the nose like an owl's beak,
and small, knavish eyes, which seem to be ferreting everywhere. He is
the son of a grocer; he is an eccentric fellow; he is always counting
the soldi that he has in his pocket; he reckons them on his fingers
very, very rapidly, and goes through some process of multiplication
without any tables; and he hoards his money, and already has a book in
the Scholars' Savings Bank. He never spends a soldo, I am positive; and
if he drops a centesimo under the benches, he is capable of hunting for
it for a week. He does as magpies do, so Derossi says. Everything that
he finds--worn-out pens, postage-stamps that have been used, pins,
candle-ends--he picks up. He has been collecting postage-stamps for more
than two years now; and he already has hundreds of them from every
country, in a large album, which he will sell to a bookseller later on,
when he has got it quite full. Meanwhile, the bookseller gives him his
copy-books gratis, because he takes a great many boys to the shop. In
school, he is always bartering; he effects sales of little articles
every day, and lotteries and exchanges; then he regrets the exchange,
and wants his stuff back; he buys for two and gets rid of it for four;
he plays at pitch-penny, and never loses; he sells old newspapers over
again to the tobacconist; and he keeps a little blank-book, in which he
sets down his transactions, which is completely filled with sums and
subtractions. At school he studies nothing but arithmetic; and if he
desires the medal, it is only that he may have a free entrance into the
puppet-show. But he pleases me; he amuses me. We played at keeping a
market, with weights and scales. He knows the exact price of everything;
he understands weighing, and makes handsome paper horns, like
shopkeepers, with great expedition. He declares that as soon as he has
finished school he shall set up in business--in a new business which he
has invented himself. He was very much pleased when I gave him some
foreign postage-stamps; and he informed me exactly how each one sold for
collections. My father pretended to be reading the newspaper; but he
listened to him, and was greatly diverted. His pockets are bulging, full
of his little wares; and he covers them up with a long black cloak, and
always appears thoughtful and preoccupied with business, like a
merchant. But the thing that he has nearest his heart is his collection
of postage-stamps. This is his treasure; and he always speaks of it as
though he were going to get a fortune out of it. His companions accuse
him of miserliness and usury. I do not know: I like him; he teaches me
a great many things; he seems a man to me. Coretti, the son of the
wood-merchant, says that he would not give him his postage-stamps to
save his mother's life. My father does not believe it.
"Wait a little before you condemn him," he said to me; "he has this
passion, but he has heart as well."