For some reason, this evening's game didn't seem to be going too well.
The children dropped out, one by one, until they all sat clustered around Guido, Beppo and Momo.
They were hoping for a story from Guido, but that was impossible because the latest arrival had brought along a transistor radio.
He was sitting a few feet away with the volume at full blast, listening to commercials.
“Turn it down, can't you?” growled Franco, the shabby-looking lad.
The newcomer pointed to the radio and shook his head.
“Can't hear you,” he said with an impudent grin. “Turn it down!” shouted Franco, rising to his feet.
The newcomer paled a little but looked defiant. “Nobody tells me what to do,” he said. “I can have my radio on as loud as I like.”
“He's right,” said old Beppo. “We can't forbid him to make such a din, the most we can do is ask him not to.”
Franco sat down again. “Then he ought to go somewhere else,” he grumbled. “He's already ruined the whole afternoon.”
“I expect he has his reasons,” Beppo said, studying the newcomer intently but not unkindly through his little steel-rimmed spectacles.
“He's sure to have.” The newcomer said nothing, but moments later he turned his radio down and looked away.
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