Carmella Commands
“Did you advance the money?”
“What! Why should I? Why should I?”
The real estate promoter was growing incoherent, and Carmella thereupon grew calmer. She was used to anger and its weaknesses.
“Because,” she said softly, “you’re trying to speed him up beyond what you said when you hired him to break your strike out there. He broke it. Then you changed your plans. But you didn’t help him to meet them. It takes money to expand a job.”
“He’s got credit, if he’s a real contractor,” sputtered the promoter.
“Sure he’s got credit—up to the size job it was when he took it. But now his credit depends on yours, Mr. Barrington. If you’re good for it, why don’t you lend it to him?”
Carmella spoke firmly, almost as if rebuking a child. The silence that followed was broken only by the soft hum of the motor as Dixon, without orders, began slowly, very slowly, to drive toward Doty Street. His admiration for the girl was equal to her gratitude to him. Where in the world, he queried, did such a child pick up such knowledge of grown-up affairs. He wished he dared look around to see how his employer was taking it. Carmella herself broke the long silence.
“I gotta get home!” she exclaimed. “Dad’ll be sore.”
[185]
