“Just what I was sayin’,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“Where’s the baby?” Mrs. Rasmussen asked.
“He went somewhere with Old-Timer,” Katy said.
“And don’t let him hear you call him the baby!” Danny laughed. “He told the doctor who gave him his shots that he wanted to be a real sailor, but the Old Man said he had to go to the Academy.”
Old-Timer and Daniel Callahan Malone, Junior, came in very quietly.
“Where have you been?” Katy said.
“Sands Street! I got a regulation haircut!”
“Damn if you didn’t!” Mrs. Feeley said. “You’d be harder to catch than a greased pig in an alley!”
“That’s not all,” Little Danny said. Old-Timer reached out into the hall and brought in a huge old-fashioned tin pail.
“Rush the growler!” Mrs. Feeley yelled. “Bet he’s got the rim buttered so they couldn’t fill it up with foam!”
Mrs. Rasmussen appeared with a tray of glasses and some crackers and cheese. Little Danny sat on Old-Timer’s lap and shared his beer.
“Don’t eat too much,” Katy said. “We have cold lobster for supper.”
“I’ll make the French fries now,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. Miss Tinkham began laying the table.
“This is a pretty domestic scene,” Danny said. “Everybody working but the host and hostess! Proper joss, I call it. How about reading me the evening paper, Toots?” He passed the paper over to Mrs. Feeley. She winked at Katy.
“Think I can’t, huh? Remember what the lightning-bug said, Smarty! ‘I think I’m bright, but it’s just my rear-end showin’.’ What do you want me to read you first?”
“Anything! Anything at all is good the way you read! You read the way Salvador Dali paints!” Danny said.
“I seen the Dolly Sisters once,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“Absolutely no kin!” Danny said. “On with the headlines.”
Mrs. Feeley straightened up in her chair and held the newspaper at arm’s-length.
“My eyes is perfect, but my arms ain’t long enough!”
“Quit stalling—and read.”
“The President issues a stink-ment to the press tomorrow,” Mrs. Feeley read slowly.
Danny shook his head. “I don’t know whether to correct that or not.”
“Don’t make fun of her,” Katy said. “It’s really amazing the way she has learned to read in the last year.”
“Amazing is the word!” Danny looked at the front page and pointed to a photograph. “What does it say under the picture?”
Mrs. Feeley studied again. “Count escorts Ambassador’s two-headed daughter to Stork Club. She ain’t got but one head in the picture.”
“Tow-headed! Not two-headed,” Danny said. “Can I have some food before she gets me crazy too, Katy?”
“He can laugh all he wants to,” Mrs. Feeley said. “I sure enjoy life more now that I can read…more things goin’ on!”
“You said you were going to learn to read if you ever got out of that tax trouble, and you certainly did!” Katy said.
“Every year gets shorter an’ more fun! When I first took up with Miss Tinkham an’ Mrs. Rasmussen I didn’t hardly know nothin’ outside o’ the junk business—an’ swillin’ beer! Then, through goin’ to school, we met you and you an’ Danny got married…then he got promoted to an officer an’ look at all the changes in our lives! We been to Mexico an’ New York, run a day-nursery an’ a boardin’-house for war-workers, an’ got Daphne an’ her kids straightened out an’ Darleen married an’ settled. Who’d a said all four of us would o’ come up an’ seen Brooklyn an’ the Navy Yard?”
“Your life gets richer because you’re interested in people,” Katy said. “A long time ago, a man named John Donne said, ‘I am involved with all mankind!’”
“That’s us!” Mrs. Feeley grinned.
“I sometimes wonder why the three of you make such a perfect combination.”
“First off,” Mrs. Feeley said, “we’re all just as different from one another as people can be. But at rock-bottom, we’re all three alike: We live for now. We act like every day was our last day on earth an’ we might miss somethin’! We all pull our weight in the boat, fair an’ square. In different ways, o’ course! We respect each other. Don’t call each other by no first names an’ we never go in the other’s room less we’re invited. We sweat out tough times together an’ we sure enjoy the good ones!”
“We are Spartan when we have to be, and Epicurean whenever we can!” Miss Tinkham came up and put her hand on Katy’s shoulder. “One of the reasons for our great contentment is the fact that each of us appreciates what we have: we never take our good fortune for granted.
“Give an’ take is what does it,” Mrs. Feeley said. “But most people’s idea o’ give an’ take is ‘You give, an’ I’ll take!’”
“Yeah.” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Most people forgets their friends the minute they get the wrinkles outa their belly. It was awful dull till Mrs. Feeley took us in.”
Mrs. Feeley laughed. “The fat with the lean’s what makes a good piece o’ bacon. Long as we’re together—an’ healthy—they ain’t nothin’ we can’t whip!”
“Come an’ get it!” Mrs. Rasmussen called.
She carried a huge platter on which six noble crustaceans lay in state. The lobster meat was picked out in big pieces, mixed with mayonnaise, chopped chives, and a good slug of sherry, then stuffed back into the shells. The liver and coral made a fine garnish edged all around with capers. The French-fried potatoes were crisp and mealy. A large mahogany bowl held a salad of endive, lettuce, and tomatoes, with generous slices of avocado here and there.
“I’ll have some o’ that Russian rye bread, please.” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “It sure goes good with the beer!”
“T
HEY
WAS LUCKY TO GET THIS APARTMENT
,
”
MRS.
Rasmussen said. She and Miss Tinkham were freshening up after supper in the guest room. They each occupied a twin bed and Mrs. Feeley slept in the Murphy bed in the door. Old-Timer slept on a fold-away bed in Little Danny’s room. They shared a small neat bathroom between the two rooms. Through the open door they could hear Little Danny singing as he did every night at bedtime: “Old Sailors Never Die,” while Old-Timer boomed out the bass. Mrs. Feeley went into the child’s room.
“Sing the part about ‘Old soldiers never pay,’” she said.
“I’m coming to it,” the little boy said. “You going out?”
“We got quite some unfinished business yet!” Mrs. Feeley said.
“I don’t want you to go home,” he said.
“We wouldn’t,” Mrs. Rasmussen came in,“ but you’re goin’ to Alaska an’ we wouldn’t like it here without you.”
“When you come up there to see me I’ll show you my pet polar bear an’ maybe a penguin!”
“Wouldn’t mind bein’ there tonight,” Mrs. Feeley said, wiping her upper lip. “See you in the mornin’, love!”
The three went through the living room where Katy and Danny were playing cards with Dusty Rhodes, Chief Machinist Mate, and Spud Murphy, Chief Boatswain’s Mate.
“Old-Timer going with you?” Katy asked.
Mrs. Feeley shook her head.
“He’s content just to sit an’ watch Little Danny sleep.”
“Don’t spend all your money!” Danny said. “Spud and Dusty are taking you to the races tomorrow.”
“I’ve got a beetle coming up in the second race,” Dusty grinned. “I’ll be able to buy a Cadillac so long it’ll need hinges to turn a corner.”
“Yeah?” Mrs. Feeley was interested.
“Got it right from the feedbox!”
“Sell beer over there?” Mrs. Rasmussen asked.
“Anything you want,” Spud said.
“Nothing venture, nothing gain!” Miss Tinkham produced her horoscope life-chart. “July sixteenth: Saturday. Favorable! Investment. Games of Chance! New line of earning endeavor…” her voice faded away and she peered anxiously at the chart through her lorgnette.
“Something disturbing?” Katy asked.
“Impending disaster for the unwary; make sure properties are covered, leave no loose ends…costly damage later.”
“Probably nothin’ that a cold beer won’t fix,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Let’s get goin’.”
“That thing has been right,” Mrs. Rasmussen said glumly.
“Ah well!” Miss Tinkham said, “The stars impel! They do not compel!”
Outside the air had lightened and there was a faint breeze.
“Nice, the taverns so handy,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“I got goose-bumps on the back o’ my neck like somebody was follerin’ us,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. The ladies turned and in the light of the apartment-house entrance saw the gray little man from the Shamrock Bar.
“Good evening, mesdames…”
“What the ruddy hell you mean by follerin’ us home? Who give you license to know where we live at?” Mrs. Feeley doubled up her fist. “Guess you want some more knuckle-puddin’, huh?”
“Really, lady…” He fished around in his vest pocket for something. “I open safes…”
“Damn bank-robber!”
“An escaped convict! Police!” Miss Tinkham lifted her larynx into a note that might have come out of Lily Pons, except that it was in tune.
“Sh, sh, lady! Please!” the little man whispered. “I’m just trying to get a knock-down to this lady…”
“I knocked you down once today!” Mrs. Feeley said. “Gettin’ to be a vice with you, huh? We’re mindin’ our business, an’ you’ll find it healthier to do the same. On your way, Creep!”
The man drew himself up to his full five feet two inches.
“What do you want to act this way for? I ask for an introduction to this lady—and what do I get? Abused, that’s all. I am a lonely man and I have plenty of money. When I see high-class company like yourselves, what harm is there in offering you some refreshment? Night after night I go to my room and what do I do? Listen to quiz shows. Then I meet a refined lady like this one, and what happens? I am pushed around. Despised.” He handed Mrs. Rasmussen a card, then blew his nose loudly. “The streets are public thoroughfare. I was not aware that all the saloons in greater New York were your private domain. I have no desire to intrude. So I’ll bid you good evening. I know when I’m not wanted.”
“You don’t need a brick house falling on you, do you?” Mrs. Feeley taunted. “You can take a hint! Go on home! Your mother wants you!”
“Mesdames.” He lifted his hat. “On Mother’s Day, I wear a white carnation! Good evening.”
Mrs. Feeley shrugged, then linked arms with Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham. “Now we’ve went an’ hurt his feelin’s!”
“The effrontery of him!” Miss Tinkham said.
“You sure made a hit.” Mrs. Feeley nudged Mrs. Rasmussen. At the end of the block they entered a crowded, noisy bar and went beyond the bead portieres into the back room where it was relatively quiet. A round table was shoved in front of an upholstered corner seat.
“Nobody got our table,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
“We gotta get down to cases,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Katy an’ Danny been wonderful, but they persuade us too much. We can talk things over better here. Count our money an’…any other little thing we have to do!”
“More impersonal,” Miss Tinkham agreed.
“Just how much we got in the kitty, Mrs. Rasmussen? Reckon we’ll make it home?”
“We ain’t spent much…we got two hundred an’ four dollars an’ thirty-seven cents, not countin’ a couple o’ bucks for beer tonight.”
“Sure as hell won’t stretch to ridin’ no Pullman home!”
“Nothin’ but a waste,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Them bein’ so snotty an’ all cause the four of us was in one drawin’ room!”
“Stuffy! So middle-class!” Miss Tinkham said. “With poor dear Old-Timer sleeping all the way across the room…on that narrow little bench against the wall. The bourgeoisie simply cannot seem to realize that there is such a thing as noblesse oblige!”
“What burned me,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “was them gettin’ sore about them little ice coils behind that little door above the water cooler in the passageway! Most natural place in the world to store our salami an’ liverwurst! Regular little Frigidaire…an’ then that bean-belly of a conductor!”
“Ill-chosen! Some of his remarks were definitely ill-chosen!”
“He was just sore ’cause o’ them four cases o’ beer we had with us…mad at all the company was losin’,” Mrs. Feeley laughed.
“A Pullman back is a sheer waste of good money,” Miss Tinkham said.
“What’s the matter with this joint?” Mrs. Feeley reared back and yelled for beer. “Maybe that’s what we like about it. They ain’t always squeezin’ us, grabbin’ the glass from our lips while it’s still half full.” A stout waiter came up with three beers. Mrs. Rasmussen laid out a quarter and a nickel.
“Later,” he said and put down a basket of pretzels.
“Nice place,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Bring us another round, then go sit down.”
“We can ride the coaches just as good. I heard they had a coach with reserved seats that tips back like a bed.”
“Mrs. Rasmussen and I had better go to the station tomorrow and make arrangements,” Miss Tinkham said. “This has been delightful, but I long so for San Diego and the Ark.”
“Ain’t nothin’ here that you can’t do there better an’ cheaper,” Mrs. Feeley agreed, “but we gotta go to the races with them sailors tomorrow.”