“Whose arms?” the bar-tender asked.
“All that will be attended to,” the Colonel said. “It’s only a phase in the Big Picture.”
Just then the driver came in the door. The Colonel saw that while they had been joking, he had not watched the door and he was annoyed, always, with any lapse of vigilance or of security.
“What the hell’s been keeping you, Jackson? Have a drink.”
“No, thank you, sir.”
You prissy jerk, the Colonel thought. But I better stop riding him, he corrected.
“We’ll be going in a minute,” the Colonel said. “I’ve been trying to learn Italian from my friend here.” He turned to look at the Milan profiteers; but they were gone.
I’m getting awfully slow, he thought. Somebody will take me any day now. Maybe even the Honorable Pacciardi, he thought.
“How much do I owe you?” he asked the bar-tender shortly.
The bar-tender told him and looked at him with his wise Italian eyes, not merry now, although the lines of merriment were clearly cut where they radiated from the corners of each eye. I hope there is nothing wrong with him, the bar-tender thought. I hope to God, or anything else, there’s nothing really bad.
“Good-bye, my Colonel,” he said.
“Ciao,” the Colonel said. “Jackson, we are going down the long ramp and due north from the exit to where the
