THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
William dropped his hands and stepped back quietly, ready in case the other made a hostile move, which William naturally hoped he would.
But the man of the world merely settled his deranged coat-collar and turned to the carabinieri, who had moved forward. His Italian was good. The carabinieri listened passively.
Ruth knew only a few Italian phrases, not enough to permit her to follow this monologue; but instinct warned her that a very bad case was being made out against William.
She interrupted."Non é vero! non é vero!" ("It is not true!") She laid her hand upon William's arm and smiled with a confidence she did not feel.
One of the carabinieri smiled back at her, looked calmly into the stranger's face, and made a simple gesture with his white-gloved hand. There was a protest. The second gesture was imperative. Recognizing the futility of further argument, the stranger shrugged and walked away.
Then the carabinieri turned their backs upon William and Ruth and strolled across the square. They were always reluctant to arrest these mad Americans, with their strange ideas of personal liberty, their utter disregard of the laws of the countries they rushed into and out of breathlessly. If they could settle such encounters with simple street justice, it was sufficient. Besides, the young woman was pretty.
"Please take me back to the hotel," said Ruth.
"Sure, sister."
William tucked her arm under his and started
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