opinion entertained at that time (in the first flush of triumph at the discovery of printing), that there was no argument more widely convincing than question-begging phrases in large type.
Romola, however, cared especially to become acquainted with the arguments in smaller type, and, though obliged to hasten forward, she looked round anxiously as she went that she might miss no opportunity of securing copies.
For a long way she saw none but such as were in the hands of eager readers, or else fixed on the walls, from which in some places the sbirri were tearing them down.
But at last, passing behind San Giovanni with a quickened pace that she might avoid the many acquaintances who frequented the piazza, she saw Bratti with a stock of handbills which he appeared to be exchanging for small coin with the passersby.
She was too familiar with the humble life of Florence for Bratti to be any stranger to her, and turning towards him she said, “Have you two sorts of handbills, Bratti? Let me have them quickly.”
“Two sorts,” said Bratti, separating the wet sheets with a slowness that tried Romola’s patience. “There’s ‘Law,’ and there’s ‘Justice.’ ”
“Which sort do you sell most of?”
“ ‘Justice’—‘Justice’ goes the quickest—so I raised the price, and made it two danari. But then I bethought me the ‘Law’ was good ware too, and had as good a right to be charged for as ‘Justice;’ for people set no store by cheap things, and if I sold the ‘Law’ at one danaro, I should be doing it a wrong. And I’m a fair trader. ‘Law,’ or ‘Justice,’ it’s all one to me; they’re good wares. I got ’em both for nothing, and I sell ’em at a fair profit. But you’ll want more than one of a sort?”