II + 

Upstairs it was certainly more cheerful than the basement, it also smelt less of stopped sink. The restaurant was a long, low, well-lighted room, with a stand of aspidistras in the center. Here and there, in a pot tied up in pink paper, a fern was trying not to die; there were many little tables, and the one good-sized window was embellished with red cotton curtains. + 

“Some day they will be silk,” thought Gian-Luca when he saw them, remembering Mario’s words. + 

“Ah!” exclaimed the Padrone, jumping up from a table at which he had been drinking vermouth. “You are late as usual, accursedly late. I am sick of you and your lateness!” + 

Mario’s eyes goggled: “I am sorry⁠—” he faltered. + 

“My apron delayed us,” piped Gian-Luca. + 

The Padrone stared. “And who may you be? Ah, yes, I remember, the new piccolo.” + 

“At what time would you wish me to arrive?” inquired Gian-Luca, assuming the air of a man. + 

“Half-past nine and not a minute later,” he was told. + 

“I will come,” said Gian-Luca calmly. + 

“That is well,” growled the Padrone, rather taken aback, “that is well. Time is money at the Capo. And now go and wash the glass in those doors; after that you must sweep out the restaurant. Come here you, Schmidt, and give him a baize apron and show him the buckets and brooms!” he bellowed. “Corpo di Bacco! Where is the fool? Santa Madonna! where is he?” + 