Carmella Commands
inspector of this town before you can set a gang to work on contract stuff. We gotcha if you don’t. You can’t come out here and steal a job from a bunch of honest working men, and I’ll land you in jail damn quick if you don’t live up to specifications.”
“No spika Eenglish,” said Tommaso. “Parlate Italiano?”
“Not by a damn sight! And I wouldn’t if I could. You’re in America now, Tony. Get wise or get out. See?”
“Who are you?” demanded Mr. Barrington.
“No matter who I am. This fellow knows. He’s the contractor here, and it’s him I talk to.”
“But⸺” began Mr. Barrington, flushing with anger.
Dixon strolled to the scene.
“Better walk over to some other part of the works, sir,” he said. “It’ll only make matters worse if you butt in on it. I know his breed.”
With an oath Mr. Barrington walked slowly away, although his son stood fascinated and listened.
Tommaso, unused to the ways of business agents, reflected. Either he must pay graft to somebody—he had learned enough of America to know that—or he must know exactly where he stood. He had not comprehended the words, but he knew their general import to be a hold-up of some sort. He turned to Dixon:
“For interpret. You can do?”
[161]
