Biltmore Oswald Read online

dropping our guns. Eli, the goat, seems unwell to-day. Iattribute his unfortunate condition to his constant and unrelentingefforts to keep the canteen clear of paper. It is my belief thatgoats are not healthy because of the fact that they eat paper, but inspite of it, and I feel sure that if all goats got together anddecided to cut out paper for a while and live on a regular diet, theywould be a much more robust race. The movies were great to-night. Isaw Sidney Drew's left ear and a mole on the neck of the man in frontof me.

  _March 21st._ A fellow in our bay asked last night how much anadmiral's pay was a month and when we told him he yawned, turned overon his side and said, "Not enough." He added that he could pick upthat much at a first-class parade any time. We all tightened our wristwatches. Been blinking at the blinker all evening. Can't make muchsense out of it. The bloomin' thing is always two blinks ahead of me.It's all very nice, I dare say, but I'd much rather get my messages onscented paper. I got one to-day. She called me her "Great, big, cutelittle sailor boy." Those were her exact words. How clever she is. I'mgoing to marry her just as soon as I'm a junior lieutenant. She'llwait a year, anyway.

  _March 22d._ I made up verses to myself in my hammock last night.Perhaps I'll send some of them to the camp paper. It would be nice tosee your stuff in print. Here's one of the poems:

  _THE UNREGENERATE SAILOR MAN_

  I

  I take my booze In my overshoes; I'm fond of the taste of rubber; I oil my hair With the grease of bear Or else with a bull whale's blubber.

  II

  My dusky wife Was a source of strife, So I left her in Singapore And sailed away At the break of day-- Since then I have widowed four.

  III

  Avast! Belay, And alack-a-day That I gazed in the eyes of beauty. For in devious ways Their innocent gaze Has caused me much extra duty.

  IV

  I never get past The jolly old mast, The skipper and I are quite chummy; He knows me by sight When I'm sober or tight And calls me a "wicked old rummy."

  A sort of sweetheart-in-every-port type I intend to make him--aseafaring man of the old school such as I suppose some of thesix-stripers around here were. I don't imagine it was very difficultto get a good conduct record in the old days, because from all thetales I've heard from this source and that, a sailor-man who did nottoo openly boast of being a bigamist and who limited his homicidicalinclinations to half a dozen foreigners when on shore leave, wasconsidered a highly respectable character. Perhaps this is not at alltrue and I for one can hardly believe it when I look at the virtuousand impeccable exteriors of the few remaining representatives withwhom I have come in contact. However, any one has my permission to askthem if it is true or not, should they care to find out forthemselves. I refuse to be held responsible though. I think I shallsend this poem to the paper soon.

  It must be wonderful to get your poems in print. All my friends wouldbe so proud to know me. I wonder if the editors are well disposed,God-fearing men.

  "LIBERTY PARTY"]

  From all I hear they must be a hard lot. Probably they'll be nice tome because of my connections. I know so many bartenders. Next week Irate liberty! Ah, little book, I wonder what these pages will containwhen I come back. I hate to think. New York, you know, is such aninteresting place.

  _March 25th._ Man! Man! How I suffer! I'm so weary I could sleep on mycompany commander's breast, and to bring oneself to that one must beconsiderably fatigued, so to speak. Who invented liberty, anyway? It'sa greatly over-rated pastime as far as I can make out, consisting ofcoming and going with the middle part omitted.

  One man whispered to me at muster this morning that all he couldremember of his liberty was checking out and checking in. He lookedunwell. My old pal, "Spike" Kelly, I hear was also out of luck. Hisgirl was the skipper of a Fourteenth Street crosstown car, so he wasforced to spend most of his time riding, between the two rivers. Henickeled himself to death in doing it. He said if Mr. Shonts playsgolf, as no doubt he does, he has "Spike" Kelly to thank for a nice,new box of golf balls. And while on the subject, "Spike" observes thatone of those engaging car signs should read:

  "Is it Gallantry, or the Advent of Woman Suffrage, or the Presence ofthe Conductorette that Causes So Many Sailors to Wear Out Their SeatsRiding Back and Forth, and So Many Unnecessary Fares to Be Rung Up inSo Doing?"

  His conversation with "Mame," his light-o'-love, was conducted alongthis line:

  "Say, Mame."

  "Yes, George, dear (fare, please, madam). What does tweetums want?"

  "You look swell in your new uniform."

  "Oh, Georgie, do you think it fits? (Yes, madam, positively, the carwas brushed this morning, your baby will be perfectly safe inside.)"

  "Mame."

  "George! (Step forward, please.) Go on, dear."

  "Mame, it's doggon hard to talk to you here." "Isn't it just! (Whatis it lady? Cabbage? Oh, baggage! No, no, you can't check baggagehere; this isn't a regular train.) George, stop holding my hand! Ican't make change!"

  "Aw, Mame, who do you love?"

  "Why, tweetums, I love--(plenty of room up forward! Don't jam up thedoor) you, of course. (Fare, please! Fare, please! Have your changeready!)"

  "Can't we get a moment alone, Mame?"

  "Yes, dear; wait until twelve-thirty, and we'll drive to the car barnthen. (Transfers! Transfers!)"

  "Spike" says that his liberty was his first actual touch with thehorrors of war.

  Another bird that lived in some remote corner of New York State toldme in pitiful tones that all he had time to do was to walk down thestreet of his home town, shake hands with the Postmaster, lean overthe fence and kiss his girl (it had to go two ways, Hello andGood-by), take a package of clean underwear from his mother as hepassed by and catch the outbound train on the dead run. All he coulddo was to wave to the seven other inhabitants. He thought the GrandCentral Terminal was a swell dump, though. He said: "There was quite alot of it," which is true.

  As for myself, I think it best to pass lightly over most of theincidents of my own personal liberty. The best part of a diary is thatone can show up one's friends to the exclusion of oneself. Anyway, whyput down the happenings of the past forty-three hours? They areindelibly stamped on my memory. One sight I vividly recall, "Ardy"Muggins, the multi-son of Muggins who makes the automatic clotheswranglers. He was sitting in a full-blooded roadster in front of theBiltmore, and the dear boy was dressed this wise ("Ardy" is a sailor,too, I forgot to mention): There was a white hat on his head; coveringand completely obliterating his liberty blues was a huge bearskincoat, which when pulled up disclosed his leggins neatly strapped overpatent leather dancing pumps. It was an astounding sight. One thatfilled me with profound emotion.

  "Aren't you a trifle out of uniform, Ardy?" I asked him. One has to beso delicate with Ardy, he's that sensitive. "Why, I thought I mightas well embellish myself a bit," says Ardy.

  "You've done all of that," says I, "but for heaven's sake, dear, dokeep away from Fourteenth Street; there are numerous sea-going sailorsdown there who might embellish you still further."

  "My God!" cries Ardy, striving to crush the wind out of the horn, "Inever slum."

  "Don't," says I, passing inside to shake hands with several of myfriends behind the mahogany. Shake hands, alas, was all I did.

  _March 26th._ I must speak about the examinations before I forget it.What a clubby time we had of it. I got in a trifle wrong at the starton account of my sociable nature. You know, I thought it was a sort ofa farewell reception given by the officers and the C.P.O.'s to the mendeparting after their twenty-one days in Probation, so the first thingI did when I went in was to shake hands with an Ensign, who I thoughtwas receiving. He got rid of my hand with the same briskness that oneremoves a live coal from one's person. The whole proceeding struck meas being a sort of charity bazaar. People were wandering around frombooth to booth, in a pleasant sociable manner, passing a word here andsitting down there in the easiest-going way imagina
ble. Leaving theEnsign rather abruptly, I attached myself to the throng and started insearch of ice cream and cake. This brought me up at a table wherethere was a very pleasant looking C.P.O. holding sway, and with him Ithought I would hold a few words. What was my horror on hearing himsnap out in a very crusty manner:

  "How often do you change your socks?"

  This is a question I allow no man to ask me. It is particularlyobjectionable. "Why, sir," I replied, "don't you think you areslightly overstepping the bounds of good taste? One does not even jestabout such totally personal matters, ye know." Then rising, I wasabout to walk away without even waiting for