On his arrival at Taormina, Kenneth had entered earnestly into the
search for Uncle John, whom he regarded most affectionately; and, having
passed the day tramping over the mountains, he would fill the evening
with discussions and arguments with the nieces concerning the fate of
their missing uncle.
But as the days dragged wearily away the search slackened and was
finally abandoned. Kenneth set up his easel in the garden and began to
paint old Etna, with its wreath of snow and the soft gray cloud of vapor
that perpetually hovered over it.
"Anyone with half a soul could paint that!" said Patsy; and as a proof
of her assertion the boy did very well indeed, except that his
uneasiness on Mr. Merrick's account served to distract him more or less.
Nor was Kenneth the only uneasy one. Mr. Watson, hard-headed man of
resource as he was, grew more and more dejected as he realized the
impossibility of interesting the authorities in the case. The Sicilian
officials were silent and uncommunicative; the Italians wholly
indifferent. If strangers came to Taormina and got into difficulties,
the government was in no way to blame. It was their duty to tolerate
tourists, but those all too energetic foreigners must take care of
themselves.
Probably Mr. Watson would have cabled the State Department at Washington
for assistance had he not expected each day to put him in communication
with his friend, and in the end he congratulated himself upon his
patience.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187