“We leave in the morning!” he said.
There was an exultant ring in his voice, a flash in his black eyes.
“Where for?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“They never tell—to the front somewhere!... See my stripes. They have made me bicyclist for the battalion. I’ve got a machine to ride now. I shall carry orders, you know!”
His laugh was broken by a cough.
“Ugh, this nasty cold—that comes from Messer Giolitti—too much night-work—no more of that! The rat!”
I glanced at the signora.
“Have you all his things ready, Bianca?” she asked calmly. “The cheese and the cake and his clothes?”
“Everything,” the little girl replied quickly. “’Rico says we can’t come to see him off.”