Biltmore Oswald | Page 8

Street crosstown car, so he was forced
to spend most of his time riding, between the two rivers. He nickeled
himself to death in doing it. He said if Mr. Shonts plays golf, 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 that one of those
engaging car signs should read:
"Is it Gallantry, or the Advent of Woman Suffrage, or the Presence of
the Conductorette that Causes So Many Sailors to Wear Out Their
Seats Riding Back and Forth, and So Many Unnecessary Fares to Be
Rung Up in So Doing?"
His conversation with "Mame," his light-o'-love, was conducted along
this 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 car was
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! (What is it
lady? Cabbage? Oh, baggage! No, no, you can't check baggage here;
this isn't a regular train.) George, stop holding my hand! I can't make
change!"
"Aw, Mame, who do you love?"
"Why, tweetums, I love--(plenty of room up forward! Don't jam up the
door) you, of course. (Fare, please! Fare, please! Have your change
ready!)"

"Can't we get a moment alone, Mame?"
"Yes, dear; wait until twelve-thirty, and we'll drive to the car barn then.
(Transfers! Transfers!)"
"Spike" says that his liberty was his first actual touch with the horrors
of war.
Another bird that lived in some remote corner of New York State told
me in pitiful tones that all he had time to do was to walk down the
street of his home town, shake hands with the Postmaster, lean over the
fence and kiss his girl (it had to go two ways, Hello and Good-by), take
a package of clean underwear from his mother as he passed by and
catch the outbound train on the dead run. All he could do was to wave
to the seven other inhabitants. He thought the Grand Central Terminal
was a swell dump, though. He said: "There was quite a lot of it," which
is true.
As for myself, I think it best to pass lightly over most of the incidents
of my own personal liberty. The best part of a diary is that one can
show up one's friends to the exclusion of oneself. Anyway, why put
down the happenings of the past forty-three hours? They are indelibly
stamped on my memory. One sight I vividly recall, "Ardy" Muggins,
the multi-son of Muggins who makes the automatic clothes wranglers.
He was sitting in a full-blooded roadster in front of the Biltmore, 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; covering and completely
obliterating his liberty blues was a huge bearskin coat, which when
pulled up disclosed his leggins neatly strapped over patent leather
dancing pumps. It was an astounding sight. One that filled me with
profound emotion.
"Aren't you a trifle out of uniform, Ardy?" I asked him. One has to be
so delicate with Ardy, he's that sensitive. "Why, I thought I might as
well embellish myself a bit," says Ardy.
"You've done all of that," says I, "but for heaven's sake, dear, do keep
away from Fourteenth Street; there are numerous sea-going sailors

down there who might embellish you still further."
"My God!" cries Ardy, striving to crush the wind out of the horn, "I
never slum."
"Don't," says I, passing inside to shake hands with several of my
friends 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 start on
account of my sociable nature. You know, I thought it was a sort of a
farewell reception given by the officers and the C.P.O.'s to the men
departing after their twenty-one days in Probation, so the first thing I
did when I went in was to shake hands with an Ensign, who I thought
was receiving. He got rid of my hand with the same briskness that one
removes a live coal from one's person. The whole proceeding struck me
as being a sort of charity bazaar. People were wandering around from
booth to booth, in a pleasant sociable manner, passing a word here and
sitting down there in the easiest-going way imaginable. Leaving the
Ensign rather abruptly, I attached myself to the throng and started in
search