She stiffened as if struck.
“Miss Smith, circumstances alter cases,” Billy added quietly.
She was conscious of the slower gait of the dark passers, their smiles and frank curiosity.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you any more, lady,” he finished with a comical imitation of the obsequious attitude of the foreign workman to his employers. “I tell-a the Big-a Boss.”
She laughed and ordered the machine on, but he saw the perplexity in her face as she sped away.
Billy turned to meet a leering, grinning Italian face. “Boss-a girl vera good look-a.” He gave Billy a nudge that permitted no resentment, since Billy had encouraged familiarity from the workmen. “You lika?”
Billy ached to “spoil his face.” Instead, “Be prepared” came instantly to his mind. He pointed to the palatial home on the hill, Tuk-wil-la. “Queens! Understand?”
The man nodded.
Billy stooped and gathered a handful of the dust at his feet and pointed to himself. “Me. Understand?”
Again the man nodded, but with a queer look, half credulity, half suspicion, and trudged on.