Carmella Commands
“Say,” he answered, “are you trying to get me into an argument?”
“No! You don’t know enough to argue. I’m trying to get you into a fight.”
“But your old man⸺”
“Forget my old man. I can lick you on brains, and my dad can lick you with his fists. If I say the word, he’ll hand you to the undertaker, everything else but embalmed. Believe me, he can fight. Now what’s the big kick all about? Is work here any business of yours, and if it is, what do I tell the cops?”
“Well, for gawd’s sake! What kind of a nice little kid are you?” began the agent. “I was going to give you a doll next Christmas, but now⸺”
“Now you know you were trying to swing a bluff on a man you thought was a poor ignitz dago. Now you know he’s got friends. Two of my uncles are captains in the police department, and two of my cousins are champions of the world in their class. I can get all four here in a couple of hours. Now, do you beat it quick, or do I set my dad on you and call the coroner?”
Dixon, beside Carmella, was grinning. John Barrington had come close, and gazed in awe at the girl. Even Mr. Barrington had come within hearing distance. The agent hesitated, and Dixon slightly curled his right fist. The agent wilted.
“F’r the love of gawd, they’re breeding wild-cats now,” he said to his companion, as they walked to their machine.
[165]
