HOTEL REGINA ELENA AND CHURCH OF SANTA CROCE, AMERICAN VILLAGE, MESSINA. [Page 284.]
farther,” said the elder, evidently a friend of the driver’s.
“What dost thou say? I, who drive to the door of the barracks four times every day at least! Mayst thou die of an accident!”
“Never, unless there is an officer in thy cab. These be strangers, without a written pass from the Comandante; they cannot enter!”
“Archpriest, I say! Mayst thou be stricken with—“
“Oh, come now, officer,” Patsy interrupted persuasively, “you will not make the lady walk through this mud! We are friends of the American Comandante. He expects us.”
The soldier was firm; we could not pass.
“Peace, I will inform the Sor Comandante,” said a new voice. It was Gasperone; I recognized him from J.’s description. He put his finger to his lips and tapped gently at the door of the small neat wooden cottage nearest the flag.
“Behold a lady and two gentlemen, who have driven up in a cab,” said Gasperone through the half-opened door. “Shall they be sent away or allowed to enter the camp?”