or some days Carmella eyed her father uneasily. Not since the day of the certified check had he mentioned his affairs to her. She could have wept for eagerness to know what he was doing, and for whom, and with whom.
She adopted the habit of rising in time for breakfast with him, for then, she knew, he was most likely to expand. But even here she failed. Suddenly, one morning, in the midst of her chatter about neighborhood affairs with her brother, Joe, she turned to her father and asked, in Italian:
“Are you a contractor, dad?”
He thought for a moment, looking at her solemnly.
“Not to speak of it,” he said finally.
“Oh! But I told Mrs. Barrington that you were.”
“Not yet,” said Tommaso.
“Maybe, some day?”
“Maybe, some day.”
“But I must tell Mrs. Barrington that I lied. I didn’t mean to, but I did, I suppose.”
Tommaso hesitated, slowly eating his breakfast, before he said:
[139]
