Carmella Commands
with her to the rival excavations down the road. She wanted to know the comparative standing of the two projects before she began to set a pace for Tommaso.
And Dixon, leading John back to the Barrington car, listened intently as father began to question son.
As he left Carmella, the boy had called back:
“Remember, mother’s going to ask you to luncheon again.”
Carmella had smiled and waved an idle hand.
In the machine Mr. Barrington began gruffly:
“Didn’t you hear Dixon honk? What were you saying to that dago kid?”
“Nothing in particular,” said John, adopting his lifelong defensive rôle.
“Well, you kept me waiting till I’ve probably missed a ten thousand dollar appointment. If you come with me again, you stick to me. See?”
“Yes, sir!” said John dutifully.
“Drive fast, Dixon,” commanded Mr. Barrington.
They rode in silence, but two men were thinking. Mr. Barrington’s thoughts were timid wishes.
“By God!” he thought. “She’s a kid. If my kids could only have her gumption. If,”—he started in his seat at the abruptness of the thought—“if my boy John would—would—like her! My God!”
He rode on, dazed with the thought.
Meanwhile the chauffeur was thinking. And the
[171]
