“For what?”
“See which way the cat goin’ to jump.”
Richling laughed unpleasantly.
“What do you mean by that?” he inquired.
“We goin’ to have war,” said Raphael Ristofalo.
“Ho! ho! ho! Why, Ristofalo, you were never more mistaken in your life!”
“I dunno,” replied the Italian, sticking in his tracks, “think it pretty certain. I read all the papers every day; nothin’ else to do in parish prison. Think we see war nex’ winter.”
“Ristofalo, a man of your sort can hardly conceive the amount of bluster this country can stand without coming to blows. We Americans are not like you Italians.”
“No,” responded Ristofalo, “not much like.” His smile changed peculiarly. “Wasn’t for Kate, I go to Italia now.”
“Kate and the parish prison,” said Richling.