Page 332 - tender-is-the-night

‘I want to go to the Quirinal Hotel.’
‘He says wan huner lire,’ explained the interpreter.
‘I understand. I’ll give him fif’y lire. Go on away.’ This
last to the insistent man who had edged up once more. The
man looked at him and spat contemptuously.
The passionate impatience of the week leaped up in Dick
and clothed itself like a flash in violence, the honorable, the
traditional resource of his land; he stepped forward and
slapped the man’s face.
They surged about him, threatening, waving their arms,
trying ineffectually to close in on him—with his back against
the wall Dick hit out clumsily, laughing a little and for a few
minutes the mock fight, an affair of foiled rushes and pad-
ded, glancing blows, swayed back and forth in front of the
door. Then Dick tripped and fell; he was hurt somewhere
but he struggled up again wrestling in arms that suddenly
broke apart. There was a new voice and a new argument but
he leaned against the wall, panting and furious at the indig-
nity of his position. He saw there was no sympathy for him
but he was unable to believe that he was wrong.
They were going to the police station and settle it there.
His hat was retrieved and handed to him, and with some
one holding his arm lightly he strode around the corner
with the taxi-men and entered a bare barrack where cara-
binieri lounged under a single dim light.
At a desk sat a captain, to whom the officious individu-
al who had stopped the battle spoke at length in Italian, at
times pointing at Dick, and letting himself be interrupted
by the taxi-men who delivered short bursts of invective and

332 Tender is the Night