Constance laughed and allowed a silence to follow, while Tony redirected his attention to Fidilini’s movements. His “Yip! Yip!” was an exact imitation, though in a deeper guttural, of Beppo’s cries before them. It would have taken a close observer to suspect that he had not been bred to the calling.
“You have not always been a donkey-driver?” she inquired after an interval of amused scrutiny.
“Not always, signorina.”
“What did you do in New York?”
“I play hand-organ, signorina.”
Tony removed his hand from the bridle and ground “Yankee Doodle” from an imaginary instrument.
“I make musica, signorina, wif—wif—how you say, monk, monka? His name Vittorio Emanuele. Ver’ nice monk—simpatica affezionata.”
“You’ve never been an actor?”
“An actor? No, signorina.”
“You should try it; I fancy you might have some talent in that direction.”