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It was raining hard when we passed through the suburbs of Genoa； and； even going very slowly behind the tramcars and the motor trucks； liquid mud splashed on to the sidewalks； so that people stepped into the doorways as they saw us coming。 In San Pier dˇArena； the industrial suburb outside of Genoa； there is a wide street with two car…tracks and we drove down the centre to avoid sending the mud on to the men going home from work。 On our left was the Mediterranean。 There was a big sea running and waves broke and the wind blew the spray against the car。 A riverbed that； when we had passed； going into Italy； had been wide； stony； and dry； was running brown； and up to the banks。 The brown water discolored the sea and as the waves thinned and cleared in breaking； the light came through the yellow water and the crests； detached by the wind； blew across the road。
A big car passed us； going fast； and a sheet of muddy water rose up and over our windshield and radiator。 The automatic windshield cleaner moved back and forth； spreading the film over the glass。 We stopped and ate lunch at Sestri。 There was no heat in the restaurant and we kept our hats and coats on。 We could see the car outside； through the window。 It was covered with mud and was stopped beside some boats that had been pulled up beyond the waves。 In the restaurant you could see your breath。
The pasta asciutta was good； the wine tasted of alum； and we poured water in it。 Afterwards the waiter brought beef steak and fried potatoes。 A man and a woman sat at the far end of the restaurant。 He was middle…aged and she was young and wore black。 All during the meal she would blow out her breath in the cold damp air。 The man would look at it and shake his head。 They ate without talking and the man held her hand under the table。 She was good…looking and they seemed very sad。 They had a traveling…bag with them。
We had the papers and I read the account of the Shanghai fighting aloud to Guy。 After the meal； he left with the waiter in search for a place which did not exist in the restaurant； and I cleaned off the windshield； the lights； and the license plates with a rag。 Guy came back and we backed the car out and started。 The waiter had taken him across the road and into an old house。 The people in the house were suspicious and the waiter had remained with Guy to see nothing was stolen。
¨Although I donˇt know how； me not being a plumber； they expected me to steal anything；〃 Guy said。
As we came up on a headland beyond the town； the wind struck the car and nearly tipped it over。
¨Itˇs good； it blows us away from the sea；〃 Guy said。
¨Well；〃 I said； ¨they drowned Shelley somewhere along here。〃
¨That was down by Viareggio；〃 Guy said。 ¨Do you remember what we came to this country for？〃
¨Yes；〃 I said； ¨but we didnˇt get it。〃
¨Weˇll be out of it tonight。〃
¨If we can get past Ventimiglia。〃
¨Weˇll see。 I donˇt like to drive this coast at night。〃 It was early afternoon and the sun was out。 Below； the sea was blue with whitecaps running towards Savona。 Back beyond the cape the brown and blue waters joined。 Out ahead of us； a tramp steamer was going up the coast。
¨Can you still see Genoa？〃 Guy asked。
¨Oh； yes。〃
¨That next big cape ought to put it out of sight。〃
¨Weˇll see it a long time yet。 I can still see Portofino Cape behind it。〃
Finally we could not see Genoa。 I looked back as we came out and there was only the sea； and below in the bay； a line of beach and fishing…boats and above； on the side of the hill； a town and then capes far down the coast。
¨Itˇs gone now；〃 I said to Guy。
¨Oh； itˇs been gone a long time now。〃
¨But we couldnˇt be sure till we got way out。〃
There was a sign with a picture of an S…turn and Svolta Pericolosa。 The road curved around the headland and the wind blew through the crack in the windshield。 Below the cape was a flat stretch beside the sea。 The wind had dried the mud and the wheels were beginning to lift dust。 On the flat road we passed a Fascist riding a bicycle； a heavy revolver in a holster on his back。 He held the middle of the road on his bicycle and we turned out for him。 He looked up at us as we passed。 Ahead there was a railway crossing； and as we came towards it the gates went down。
As we waited； the Fascist came up on his bicycle。 The train went by and Guy started the engine。
¨Wait；〃 the bicycle man shouted from behind the car。 ¨Your numberˇs dirty。〃
I got out with a rag。 The number had been cleaned at lunch。
¨You can read it；〃 I said。
¨You think so？〃
¨Read it。〃
¨I cannot read it。 It is dirty。〃
I wiped it off with the rag。 ¨Howˇs that？〃
¨Twenty…five lire。〃
¨What？〃 I said。 ¨You could have read it。 Itˇs only dirty from the state of the roads。〃
¨You donˇt like Italian roads？〃
¨They are dirty。〃
¨Fifty lire。〃 He spat in the road。 ¨Your car is dirty and you are dirty too。〃
¨Good。 And give me a receipt with your name。〃
He took out a receipt book； made in duplicate； and perforated； so one side could be given to the customer； and the other side filled in and kept as a stub。 There was no carbon to record what the customerˇs ticket said。
¨Give me fifty lire。〃
He wrote in indelible pencil； tore out the slip； and handed it to me。 I read it。
¨This is for twenty…five lire。〃
¨A mistake；〃 he said； and changed the twenty…five to fifty。
¨And now the other side。 Make it fifty in the part you keep。〃
He smiled a beautiful Italian smile and wrote something on the receipt stub； holding it so I could not see。
¨Go on；〃 he said； ¨before your number gets dirty again。〃
We drove for two hours after it was dark and slept in Mentone that night。 It seemed very cheerful and clean and sane and lovely。 We had driven from Ventimiglia to Pisa and Florence； across the Romagna to Rimini； back through Forl？； Imola； Bologna； Parma； Piacenza； and Genoa； to Ventimiglia again。 The whole trip had only taken ten days。 Naturally； in such a short trip； we had no opportunity to see how things were with the country or the people。
FIFTY GRAND
¨How are you going yourself Jack？〃 I asked him。
¨You seen this Walcott ？〃 he says。
¨Just in the gym。〃
¨Well；〃 Jack says； ¨Iˇm going to need a lot of luck with that boy。〃
¨He canˇt hit you； Jack；〃 Soldier said。
¨I wish to hell he couldnˇt。〃
¨He couldnˇt hit you with a handful of bird…shot。〃
¨Bird…shotˇd be all right；〃 Jack says。 ¨I wouldnˇt mind bird…shot any。〃
¨He looks easy to hit；〃 I said。
¨Sure；〃 Jack says； ¨he ainˇt going to last long。 He ainˇt going to last like you and me； Jerry。 But right now heˇs got everything。〃
¨Youˇll left…hand him to death。〃
¨Maybe；〃 Jack says。 ¨Sure。 I got a chance to。〃
¨Handle him like you handled Richie Lewis〃
¨Richie Lewis；〃 Jack said。 ¨That kike！〃
The three of us； Jack Brennan； Soldier Bartlett； and I； were in Handleyˇs。 There were a couple of broads sitting at the next table to us。 They had been drinking。
¨What do you mean； kike？〃 one of the broads says。 ¨What do you mean； kike； you big Irish bum？〃
¨Sure；〃 Jack says。 ¨Thatˇs it。〃
¨Kikes；〃 this broad goes on。 ¨Theyˇre always talking about kikes； these big Irishmen。 What do you mean； kikes？〃
¨Come on。 Letˇs get out of here。〃
¨Kikes；〃 this broad goes on。 ¨Whoever saw you ever buy a drink？ Your wife sews your pockets up every morning。 These Irishmen and their kikes？ Ritchie Lewis could lick you too。〃
¨Sure；〃 Jack says。 ¨And you give away a lot of things free too； donˇt you？〃
We went out。 That was Jack。 He could say what he wanted to when he wanted to say it。
Jack started training out at Danny Hoganˇs health farm over in Jersey。 It was nice out there but Jack didnˇt like it much。 He didnˇt like being away from his wife and the kids； and he was sore and grouchy most of the time。 He liked me and we got along fine together； and he liked Hogan； but after a while Soldier Bartlett commenced to get on his nerves。 A kidder gets to be an awful thing around a camp if his stuff goes sort of sour。 Soldier was always kidding Jack； just sort of kidding him all the time。 It wasnˇt very funny and it wasnˇt very good； and it began to get to Jack。 It was sort of stuff like this。 Jack would finish up with the weights and the bag and pull on the gloves。
¨You want to work？〃 heˇd say to Soldier。
¨Sure。 How you want me to work？〃 Soldier would ask。 ¨Want me to treat you rough like Walcott？ Want me to knock you down a few times？〃
¨Thatˇs it；〃 Jack would say。 He didnˇt like it any； though。
One morning we were all out on the road。 Weˇd been out quite a way and now we were coming back。 Weˇd go along fast for three minutes and then walk a minute； and then go fast for three minutes again。 Jack wasnˇt ever what you would call a sprinter。 Heˇd move around fast enough in the ring if he had to； but he wasnˇt any too fast on the road。 All the time we were walking Soldier was kidding him。 We came up the hill to the farmhouse。
¨Well；〃 says Jack； ¨you better go b