“I suppose likely he would,” agreed Bobby. “But we might be able to tell something by the way he acts. It won’t do any harm to try anyhow.”
They found Dago Joe pottering about some work in the small yard in front of his shack. But Joe had seen them coming and his uneasy conscience had taken alarm. If he had had time, he would have slipped inside the house and had his wife or one of the children deny that he was at home. But it was too late for that, and he took refuge in the assumed ignorance that had served him many times before.
He greeted them with a genial smile that showed his mouthful of white teeth which was the only personal attraction he possessed.
“Goota day,” he said blandly.
“How are you, Joe?” said Bobby, as spokesman for the party. “Been pretty busy?”
Joe’s mouth drooped.
“Not do nottin much,” he answered. “Beesness bad, ver’ bad.”
“Carry any loads of ashes lately?” Bobby went on.
Joe looked puzzled. Then a light came into his face.
“Hash?” he said delightedly. “Me likea hash. Tasta good. Bambino like it too.”