Once or twice, during the Winter and Spring, while she was touring with Pearl Hines, Helen got into Atlanta to see him. In Spring they attended the week of Grand Opera. He would find employment for one night as a spearman in Aïda and pass the doorman for the remainder of the week with the assurance that he was “a member of the company—Lukio Gantio.”
His large feet spread tightly out in sandals; behind the shingreaves his awkward calves were spined thickly with hair; a thick screw of hair writhed under the edge of his tin helmet, as he loafed in the wings, leaning comically on his spear, his face lit with exultancy.
Caruso, waiting his entrance, regarded him from time to time with a wide Wop smile.
“Wotta you call yourself, eh?” asked Caruso, approaching and looking him over.
“W-w-w-why,” he said, “d-don’t you know one of your s-s-s-soldiers when you see him?”
“You’re one hell of a soldier,” said Caruso.
“Whah-whah-whah!” Luke answered. With difficulty he restrained his prodding fingers.
In the summer now he returned to Altamont, finding employment with a firm of land-auctioneers, and assisting them at the sale of a tract or a parcel of lots. He moved about above the crowd in the bed of a wagon, exhorting them to bid, with his hand at the side of his mouth, in a harangue compounded of frenzy, passionate solicitation, and bawdry. The work intoxicated him. With wide grins of expectancy they crowded round the spokes. In a high throaty tenor he called to them:
“Step right up, gentlemen, lot number 17, in beautiful Homewood—we furnish the wood, you furnish the home. Now gentlemen, this handsome building-site has a depth of 179 feet, leaving plenty of room for garden and backhouse (grow your own corn cobs in beautiful Homewood) with a frontage of 114 feet on a magnificent new macadam road.”
“Where is the road?” some one shouted.
“On the blueprint, of course, Colonel. You’ve got it all in black and
