Biltmore Oswald Part 15

"Polly!" suddenly exclaimed Mother. "Polly! Why, I forgot to tell you that she said that she would be up this afternoon. She must be here now."

The world swam around me. Polly was my favorite sweetie.

"Oh, Mother!" I cried reproachfully, "how could you have forgotten?"

At that moment I heard a familiar voice issuing from the corner, and turning around, I caught sight of the staff reporter of the camp paper, a notoriously unscrupulous sailor with predatory proclivities.

He had gotten Polly in a corner and was chinning the ear off of her.

As I drew near I heard him saying:

"Really it's an awful pity, but I distinctly remember him saying that he was going away on liberty to-day. He mentioned some girl's name, but it didn't sound anything at all like yours."

Polly looked at him trustfully.

"Are you sure, Mr.----"

"Savanrola," the lying wretch supplied without turning a hair.

"Are you sure, Mr. Savanrola, that he has left the station?"

"Saw him check out with my own eyes," he said calmly.

I moved nearer, my hands twitching.

"Now with an honest old seafaring man like myself," he continued, in a confidential voice, "it's different. Why, if I should wear all the hash marks I rate I'd look like a zebra. So I just don't wear any. You know how it is. But when I like a girl I stick to her. Now from the very first moment I laid eyes on you--"

Human endurance could stand no more. I threw myself between them.

"Why, here's Oswald hisself," exclaimed the reporter with masterfully feigned surprise. "However did you get back so soon?"

"I have never been away anywhere to get back from, and you know it," I replied coldly.

"Strange!" he said, "I could have sworn that I saw you checking out.

Can I get you some ice cream?" he added smoothly.

"What on?" I replied bitterly, knowing him always to be broke.

"Your mother must have--"

"Come," said I to Polly, "leave this degraded creature to ply his pernicious trade alone. I have some very important words to say to you."

"Good-by, Mr. Savanrola," said Polly.

"Until we meet again," answered the reporter, with the utmost confidence.

_Aug. 12th._ It's all arranged. Those words I had to say to Polly were not spoken in vain. She has promised to be my permanent sweetie. Of course, I have had a number of transit sweeties in the past, but now I'm going to settle down to one steady, day in and day out sweetie. I told Tim, the barkeep, about it last night and all he said was:

"What about all those parties we'd planned to have after we were paid off?"

This sort of set me back for the moment. The spell of Polly's eyes had made me forget all about Tim.

"Well, Tim," I replied, "I'll have to think about that. Come on over to the canteen and I'll feed you some of those honest, upstanding sandwiches they have over there."

"Say," says Tim, the carnal beast, forgetting everything at the prospect of food, "I feel as if I could cover a flock of them without trying."

So together Tim and I had a bachelor's dinner over the sandwiches, which were worthy of that auspicious occasion.

_Aug. 17th._ We were standing on a street corner of a neighboring town. The party consisted of Tim the barkeep, the "Spider," an individual who modestly acknowledged credit for having brought relief to several over-crowded safes in the good old civilian days; Tony, who delivered ice in my district also in those aforementioned days, and myself. These gentlemen for some time had been allowing me to exist in peace, and I had been showing my grat.i.tude by buying them whatever little dainties they desired, but such a comfortable state of affairs could not long continue with that bunch. Suddenly, without any previous consultation, as if drawn together as it were by some fiendish undercurrent, they decided to make me unhappy--me, the only guy that spoke unbroken English in the crowd. This is the way they accomplished their low ends. When the next civilian came along they all of them shouted at me in tones that could be heard by all pa.s.sers-by:

"Here comes a 'ciwilian,' buddy; he'll give you a quarter."

"Do you need some money, my boy?" said the old gentleman to me in a kindly voice.

"No, sir," I stammered, getting red all over, "thank you very much, but I really don't need any money."

Ironical laughter from my friends in the background.

"Oh, no," cries Tim sarcastically, "he don't need no money. Just watch him when he sees the color of it."

"Don't hesitate, my son," continued the kind old man, "if you need anything I would be glad to help you out."

"No, sir," I replied, turning away to hide my mortification, "everything is all right."

"Poor but proud," hisses the "Spider." The old gentleman pa.s.sed on, sorely perplexed.

For some time I was a victim of this crude plot. When I tried to move away they followed me around the streets, crying after me:

"Any 'ciwilian' will give you a quarter. Go on an' ask them."

Several ladies stopped and asked if they could be of any service to me. I a.s.sured them that they couldn't, but all the time these low sailors whom I had been feeding lavishly kept jeering and intimating that I was fooling and would take any amount of money offered me from a dime up. This shower of conflicting statements always left the kindhearted people in a confused frame of mind and broke me up completely. I had to chase one man all the way down the street and hand him back the quarter he had thrust into my hand. My friends never forgave me for this.

At length, tiring of their sport, they desisted and stood gloomily on the curb as sailors do, looking idly at nothing.

"It don't look like we was ever going to get a hitch," said the "Spider," after we had abandonedly offered ourselves to several automobiles.

At that moment a huge machine rolled heavily by.

"There goes a piece of junk," said Tim. The lady in the machine must have heard him, for the car came to and she motioned for us to get in.

"Going our way?" she asked, smiling at us.

"Thanks, lady," replies Tim, elbowing me aside as he climbed aboard.

"Dust your feet," I whispered to Tony as he was about to climb in.

"Whatta you mean, dusta my feet?" shouted Tony wrathfully, "you go head an' dusta your feet! I look out for my feet all right."