Presently the man hit upon a pleasant sort of compromise.

Why, he asked, did I not pay the bill as it stood, and then, on dismissing my carriage--he had learnt that I was not returning to Catanzaro--deduct as much as I chose from the payment of the driver?
A pretty piece of rascality, this, which he would certainly not have suggested but that the driver was a mere boy, helpless himself and bound to render an account to his master.

I had to be content with resolutely striking off half the sum charged for the lad's wine (he was supposed to have drunk four litres), and sending the receipted bill to Don Pasquale at Catanzaro, that he might be ready with information if any future traveller consulted him about the accommodation to be had at Squillace.

No one is likely to do so for a long time to come, but I have no doubt Don Pasquale had a chuckle of amused indignation over the interesting and very dirty bit of paper.

We drove quickly down the winding road, and from below I again admired the picturesqueness of Squillace.