Carmella Commands
“Sure!” said Dixon. “I’ll get one. Who you want?”
Tommaso looked blank.
Who—who—who? Carmella? Alibrio? Who?
Tommaso thought rapidly—more rapidly than he liked. Mrs. Alibrio? Carmella? Both could translate. Only one cared. And she had clung to his arm last evening.
“Carmella.”
“She’ll be here in thirty minutes,” said Dixon, “or several traffic cops will be dead.”
Turning to the business agent, he said:
“This man don’t get your brand of talk. I’m going to get his interpreter. Back in thirty minutes. You wait. And the work goes on, see?”
The stranger demurred, and Dixon stepped toward him.
“I said the work goes on, and you stay here. If you start anything, remember, these huskies here follow the leader. See?”
He waved his hands toward the workmen, now leaning on their shovels and watching.
He dashed to the Barrington machine, without waiting to consult his employer, and drove off with all the acceleration a costly collection of eight cylinders can have. Carmella had returned to the cottage as Dixon drove up and came to a stop so sudden that it plowed up the macadam. She was just entering the door as Dixon called.
[162]
