No word was spoken and amid deathly silence the man obeyed.

At last the Camorrist turned to the importer and said: "This man owes you three thousand dollars, I believe." The importer nodded.
"Pay what you justly owe," ordered the Camorrist.
Slowly the reluctant debtor produced a roll of bills and counted them out upon the barrel-head.

At five hundred he stopped and looked at the Camorrist.
"Go on!" directed the latter.
So the other, with beads of sweat on his brow, continued until he reached the two thousand-dollar mark.

Here the bills seemed exhausted.
The importer by this time began to feel a certain reticence about his part in the matter--there might be some widows and orphans somewhere.
The bad man looked inquiringly at him, and the importer mumbled something to the effect that he "would let it go at that." But the bad man misunderstood what his client had said and ordered the bankrupt to proceed.

So he did proceed to pull out another thousand dollars from an inside pocket and add it to the pile on the barrel-head.
The Camorrist nodded, picked up the money, recounted it, and removed three hundred dollars, handing the rest to the importer.
"I have deducted the camorra," said he.
The bravos formed a line along the cellar to the door, and, as the importer passed on his way out, each removed his hat and wished him a buona sera.