Flappers and Philosophers | Page 3

us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, With
your bellows."
Ardita's brow wrinkled in astonishment. Sitting very still she listened
eagerly as the chorus took up a second verse.
"Onions and beans, Marshalls and Deans, Goldbergs and Greens And
Costellos. Blow us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, With
your bellows."
With an exclamation she tossed her book to the desk, where it sprawled
at a straddle, and hurried to the rail. Fifty feet away a large rowboat
was approaching containing seven men, six of them rowing and one
standing up in the stern keeping time to their song with an orchestra

leader's baton.
"Oysters and Rocks, Sawdust and socks, Who could make clocks Out
of cellos?---"
The leader's eyes suddenly rested on Ardita, who was leaning over the
rail spellbound with curiosity. He made a quick movement with his
baton and the singing instantly ceased. She saw that he was the only
white man in the boat--the six rowers were negroes.
"Narcissus ahoy!" he called politely.
What's the idea of all the discord?" demanded Ardita cheerfully. "Is this
the varsity crew from the county nut farm?"
By this time the boat was scraping the side of the yacht and a great
bulking negro in the bow turned round and grasped the ladder.
Thereupon the leader left his position in the stern and before Ardita had
realized his intention he ran up the ladder and stood breathless before
her on the deck.
"The women and children will be spared!" he said briskly. "All crying
babies will be immediately drowned and all males put in double irons!"
Digging her hands excitedly down into the pockets of her dress Ardita
stared at him, speechless with astonishment. He was a young man with
a scornful mouth and the bright blue eyes of a healthy baby set in a
dark sensitive face. His hair was pitch black, damp and curly--the hair
of a Grecian statue gone brunette. He was trimly built, trimly dressed,
and graceful as an agile quarter-back.
"Well, I'll be a son of a gun!" she said dazedly.
They eyed each other coolly.
"Do you surrender the ship?"
"Is this an outburst of wit? " demanded Ardita. "Are you an idiot--or
just being initiated to some fraternity?"

"I asked you if you surrendered the ship."
"I thought the country was dry," said Ardita disdainfully. "Have you
been drinking finger-nail enamel? You better get off this yacht!"
"What?" the young man's voice expressed incredulity.
"Get off the yacht! You heard me!"
He looked at her for a moment as if considering what she had said.
"No" said his scornful mouth slowly; "No, I won't get off the yacht.
You can get off if you wish."
Going to the rail be gave a curt command and immediately the crew of
the rowboat scrambled up the ladder and ranged themselves in line
before him, a coal-black and burly darky at one end and a miniature
mulatto of four feet nine at to other. They seemed to be uniformly
dressed in some sort of blue costume ornamented with dust, mud, and
tatters; over the shoulder of each was slung a small, heavy-looking
white sack, and under their arms they carried large black cases
apparently containing musical instruments.
"'Ten-SHUN!" commanded the young man, snapping his own heels
together crisply. "Right DRISS! Front! Step out here, Babe!"
The smallest Negro took a quick step forward and saluted.
"Take command, go down below, catch the crew and tie 'em up--all
except the engineer. Bring him up to me. Oh, and pile those bags by the
rail there."
"Yas-suh!"
Babe saluted again and wheeling about motioned for the five others to
gather about him. Then after a short whispered consultation they all
filed noiselessly down the companionway.
"Now," said the young man cheerfully to Ardita, who had witnessed

this last scene in withering silence, "if you will swear on your honor as
a flapper--which probably isn't worth much--that you'll keep that
spoiled little mouth of yours tight shut for forty-eight hours, you can
row yourself ashore in our rowboat."
"Otherwise what?"
"Otherwise you're going to sea in a ship."
With a little sigh as for a crisis well passed, the young man sank into
the settee Ardita had lately vacated and stretched his arms lazily. The
corners of his mouth relaxed appreciatively as he looked round at the
rich striped awning, the polished brass, and the luxurious fittings of the
deck. His eye felt on the book, and then on the exhausted lemon.
"Hm," he said, "Stonewall Jackson claimed that lemon-juice cleared his
head. Your head feel pretty clear?"
Ardita disdained to answer.
"Because inside of five minutes you'll have to make a clear decision
whether it's go or stay."
He picked up the book