Carmella Commands
led him through the dance as if she had been a dancingschool pupil in the nineties.
“What the hell!” growled Nicolo. “That ain’t no dance.”
“It’s a grand and glorious dance,” said Carmella, “and I wish they’d play it again.”
Carmella grew up as for the first time she danced the waltz. As the music slowed down and drawled itself to a close, which is the way with modern orchestras, Carmella applauded frantically. Nicolo stood quietly.
“Clap, you boob!” cried Carmella.
“Aw, that was dumb stuff,” he answered.
“That,” said Carmella, “was dancing. None of this shuffle stuff. I didn’t know they made music that way. Go up and ask the leader to do it again.”
“Aw!” said Nicolo.
“I mean it. I gotta dance that dance some more. You go up and ask him to repeat or I’m off you. And that ain’t maybe.”
Nicolo looked Carmella in the eye and saw that she meant it. He shuffled slowly toward the orchestra, spoke a moment with the leader, and returned.
“He says he can’t do it more’n once an afternoon,” Nicolo reported.
“Well, for the love of glory, didn’t you tip him?” asked Carmella.
“Tip him? What with? I only had two dollars. I got twenty cents left.”
“Listen, Nick!’ Carmella led him to one side of
[115]
