PIKE. Then you're a chauffeur. [Puts blouse on him.] Take a look at this
one. [With emphatic significance.] It's _underneath_ the machine.
[Quickly sets his hands on IVANOFF'S shoulders, having forced the blouse
on him, and pushes him beneath the car.]
MARIANO [within the hotel, calling]. Subito! Subito! Vengo, Signore!
Vengo!
[PIKE at same time rapidly wipes his hands on a rag, puts on his hat,
cuffs, and coat, which have been lying on the seat.]
MARIANO [running on, flustered]. Corpo de St. Costanzo! Non posso essere
dapertutto allo stesso tempo. Vengo, vengo!
[He hastens to the gates with his key, unfastening busily. Meanwhile
PIKE lights a cigar.]
MARIANO. Ecco! [Throws open gates and falls back in astonishment.] Dio
mio!
[Two carabiniere, good-looking, soldierly men in the carabiniere
uniform, cocked hats, white cross-belts, etc., are disclosed, their
carbines slung over their arms, their long cloaks thrown back. Behind
the carabiniere stand some fishermen in red caps, dirty flannel shirts,
and trousers rolled up to the knee; also a few ragged beggars.]
FIRST CARABINIERE [as gate is opened]. Buon giorno!
[The two carabiniere enter briskly.]
MARIANO. [springing forward and closing gate, calling to crowd outside].
No, no!
FIRST CARABINIERE.
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