Carmella Commands
the latter’s had broken last week. She resolved to be more neighborly. Even if Mrs. Coletta did come from Naples and she from Sicily. After all, were not Italians Italians, whatever region they came from? Mussolini was teaching that. Mussolini, thought Mrs. Alibrio, peering through the curtains of her front windows, was a wise, wise man.
Carmella asked Mrs. Barrington into the house, with all the politeness of a Doge’s palace. But the latter declined pleasantly, remembering not to smile.
“You just run in and ask your mother about Saturday,” she said. “I’ve an appointment, and must hurry on.”
Mrs. Barrington’s appointment was with herself. Carmella dashed into the house, breathless.
“May I go? May I go? Say I can! Say so, please, mammuzza!” she urged, after explaining her errand.
“Maybe I should ask your father?” said Maria slowly, doubting her own ears.
“Sure you should,” agreed Carmella. “And if he says so, I can go, I can go?”
Maria nodded, and Carmella dashed back to the sedan.
“Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Barrington, and mother says I can go. She says to thank you. What time shall I come?”
“I’ll send the machine for you,” said Mrs. Barrington, smiling and then suddenly ceasing to smile.
[61]
