Carmella Commands
“And listen, caro padre, I am your interpreter, is it not so?”
Suddenly, without waiting for an answer, she began to chatter. Chattering of the pictures they had seen, of her vacation play, of the new teacher she was to have in the fall, and of the rumor that he was to be contractor for Mr. Barrington.
“Only for the cellars, to hurry them along,” said Tommaso, anxious not to overestimate his good for- tune, or to try to deceive his daughter in any way. “There is a strike, and I shall take a few men out to do the digging.”
“Aha! Then that makes you a contractor. I told the truth. I told the truth to Mrs. Barrington!” She skipped a few steps ahead, then backstepped to her father’s side and took his arm again. “That makes you a contractor. Tommaso Coletta, contractor!” She laughed joyously.
Tommaso looked keenly at her, as he had in the thea- ter. ‘This again was a new tone. Dependent, approv- ing, dominating—his daughter. His American daugh- ter. He sighed. It was beyond his experience.
“But, dad,” she went on, “a contractor must provide for his men, is it not? And he must take them to their work in the morning and back home at night. And to haul out the earth—there should be a truck for that. No longer are you digging one little cellar. You agree to do a big job, and do it quick. You must have the
[154]
