“We adore the maple mousse your boys make!” Robin assured Baretti. Marjorie echoed her warm praise of the dainty.
They obediently followed him to one of the vacant tables and seated themselves in the chairs he pulled out for them. He stood for a moment ceremoniously waiting for one or the other of them to ask him to join them.
“I hope you aren’t too busy to sit down at the table for a few minutes and tell us about the busses,” Marjorie cordially paved the way.
“What you think, Miss Page; Miss Dean?” the little proprietor leaned earnestly forward. An apple-cheeked Italian waitress had been sent for the maple mousse. “Sabani send me the word he don’t run the busses—not if I say so hundred times. Ha, ha, ha!” Baretti threw back his head with a derisive laugh.
“How encouraging!” Marjorie exclaimed with light mockery. In spite of the difficulties that had overtaken Page and Dean she could not resist smiling over the child-like message of defiance Sabani had sent to Baretti.
The Italian understood her tone and said. “Now you only make the fun of me, Miss Dean.”
“What does Sabani intend to do about sending busses over the campus route?” Robin asked anxiously. “Why has he cut the campus out? All the answer we’ve ever received from him to those two questions is that two of his busses are laid up for repairs and the third is running entirely on the Bretan Hill route.”
“A-a-ah; he only makes the talk. He don’t tell nothin’ true. Nev-ver-r Sabani tell the truth. He say me the same he say you, Miss Page. I say him: ‘Look you; this my eye.’ Put my finger to my eye like this. ‘I see two your busses run in town yesterday.’ Then he is verra mad, but he tell me verra smart: ‘Oh, yes; you see. That one bus make only one trip to West Hamilton, then break down again.’ I tell him I am not foolish. I know what I see. I say: ‘What is the matter you don’t want to give the dorm girls the service?’”
“That was straight from the shoulder.” Marjorie nodded her approbation.
“Good for you, Signor Baretti.” Robin lightly clapped her hands.