Biltmore Oswald Page 18
A sailor to his mother came and said, "Oh, mother dear, I got to go away and fight the war. So, mother, don't you cry too hard, and don't you have no fear When you find that I'm not sticking 'round no more."
"My boy," the sweet old lady said, "I hate to see you go. I've knowed you since when you was but a kid, But if the question you should ask, I'll tell the whole world so-- It's the only decent thing you ever did."
A tear she brushed aside, And then she sadly cried:
CHORUS
"I'm proud my boy's a sailor man what sails upon the sea. I've always liked him pretty well although he is so dumb. For years he's stuck around the house and disappointed me. I thought that he was going to be a bum."
He took her gently by the hand and kissed her on the bean And said, "When I'm about to fight the Hun You shouldn't talk to me that way; I think it's awfully mean-- I ain't agoin' to have a lot of fun."
"I know, my child," the mother said. "The parting makes me sad, But go you must away and fight the war. At least you will not live to drink as much as did your dad-- So here's your lid, my lad, and there's the door."
Then as he turned away He heard her softly say:
CHORUS
"The sailors I have ever loved. I'm glad my lad's a gob, Although it seems to me he's much too dumb. But after all perhaps he isn't such an awful slob-- I always knew that Kaiser was a bum!"
_Aug. 9th._ The best way to make a deserter of a man is to give himtoo much liberty. For the past week I have been getting my dog Fogertyon numerous liberty lists when he shouldn't have been there, but notcontented with that he has taken to going around with a couple ofyeomen, and the first thing I know he will be getting on a specialdetail where the liberty is soft. I put nothing past that dog since helost his head to some flop-eared huzzy with a black and tanreputation.
_Aug. 10th._ All day long and a little longer I have been carryingsacks of flour. The next time I see a stalk of wheat I am going tosnarl at it. This new occupation is a sort of special penance for nothaving my hammock lashed in time. It seems that I have been in theservice long enough to know how to do the thing right by now, but theseventh hitch is a sly little devil and always gets me. I need alonger line or a shorter hammock, but the only way out of it that Ican see is to get a commission and rate a bed.
"I CARRIED ALL THE FLOUR TO-DAY THAT WAS RAISED LASTYEAR IN THE SOUTHERN SECTION OF THE STATE OF MONTANA"]
I carried all the flour to-day that was raised last year in thesouthern section of the State of Montana, and I was carrying it welland cheerfully until one of my pet finger nails (the one that themanicure girls in the Biltmore used to rave about) thrust itselfthrough the sack and precipitated its contents upon myself and thefloor. A commissary steward when thoroughly aroused is a poisonousmember of society. One would have thought that I had sunk the greatfleet the way this bird went on about one little sack of flour.
"Here Mr. Hoover works hard night and day all winter," he sobs at me,"and you go spreading it around as if you were Marie Antoinette."
I wondered what new scandal he had about Marie Antoinette, but I heldmy peace. My horror was so great that the real color of my face madethe flour look like a coat of sunburn in comparison.
"There's enough flour there," he continued reproachfully, pointing tothe huge mound of stuff in which I stood like a lost explorer on asnow-capped mountain peak and wishing heartily that I was one,"there's enough flour," he continued, "to keep a chief petty officerin pie for twenty-four hours."
"Just about," thought I to myself.
"Well," he cried irritably, "pick it up. Be quick. Pick it up--all ofit!"
"Pick it up," I replied through a cloud of mist, "you can't pick upflour. You can pick up apples and pears and cabbages and cigarettebutts for that matter, but you can't pick up flour."
The commissary steward suddenly handed me a piece of paper upon whichhe had been writing frantically.
"Take this to your P.O.," he said shrilly, "and take yourself alongwith it.
"A defect in the sack," I gasped, departing.
"And there's a defect in you," he shouted after me, "your brain isexempted."
"Take this man and kill him if you can find any slight technicalexcuse for it," the note ran, "and if you can't kill him, give him aninaptitude discharge with my compliments, and if you are unable to doeither of these two things, at least keep him away from my outfit. Wedon't want to see his silly face around here any more at all."
The P.O. read it to me with great delight.
"I guess we'll have to send you to Siberia after all," he saidthoughtfully, "only that country is in far too delicate a conditionfor you to meddle with at present. Go away to somewhere where I can'tsee you," he continued bitterly, "for I feel inclined to do you aninjury, something permanent and serious." I went right away.
_Aug. 11th._ Mother has just paid one of her belligerent visits to thecamp, and as a consequence I am on the point of having a flock ofbrainstorms. Some misguided person had been telling her about theOfficer Training School up here, and she arrived fired with theambition to enter me into that institution without further delay.True to form, she bounded headlong into the matter without consultingmy feelings by accosting the very first commissioned officer she met.He happened to be an Ensign, but he might as well have been aVice-Admiral for all Mother cared.
"Tell me, young man," she said to this Ensign, going directly to thepoint, "do you see any reason why my boy Oswald should not go to thatplace where they make all the Ensigns?"
"Yes," said the officer firmly, "I do."
"Oh, you do," snapped Mother angrily, "and pray tell me what thatreason might be?"
"Your son Oswald," replied the Ensign laconically.
"What!" exclaimed Mother, "you mean to say that my Oswald is not goodenough to go to your silly old school?"
"No," replied the Ensign, weakening pitifully before the witheringfury of an aroused mother, "but you see, my dear madam, he has not afirst class rating."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Mother.
"Crossed anchors," replied the Ensign.
"I didn't mean that," continued Mother, "I think the whole thing isvery mysterious and silly, and I'm not going to let it stop here. Youcan trust me, Oswald," she went on soothingly. "I am going to see theCommander of the station myself. I am going this very instant."
"But, Mother," I cried in desperation, tossing all consequences to thewind, "the 'skipper' isn't on the station to-day. He got a 43-hourliberty. I saw him check out of the gate myself."
For a moment the Ensign's jaw dropped. I watched him anxiously. Thenwith perfect composure he turned to Mother and came through like alittle gentleman.
"Yes, madam," he stated, "your son is right. I heard his name read outwith the liberty party only a moment ago. He has shoved off by now."
I could have kissed that Ensign.
"Well, I'm sure," said Mother, "it's very funny that I can never getto the Captain. I shall write him, however."
"He must have an interesting collection of your letters already," Isuggested. "They would be interesting to publish in book form."
"Anyway," continued Mother, apparently not attending to my remark, "Ithink you would look just as well as this young man in one of thosenice white suits."
"No doubt, madam," replied the Ensign propitiatingly, "no doubt."
"Come, Mother," said I, "let's go to the Y.M.C.A. I need somethingcool to steady my nerves."
"How about your underwear?" said Mother, coming back to her mania, ina voice that invited all within earshot who were interested in myunderwear to draw nigh and attend.
"Here, eat this ice cream," I put in quickly, almost feeding her."It's melting."
But Mother was not to be decoyed away from her favorite topic.
"I must look it over," she continued firmly.
It seemed to me that every eye in the room was calmly penetrating mywhites and carefully looking over the underwear in which Mother tooksuch an exaggerated interest. "Socks!" suddenly exploded Mother. "Howare you off for socks?"
"Splendidly," I said in a hoarse voice. A girl behind me snickered.
"And have