With a cry of horror I leaped to the other side of
the clothes-line and endeavored to conceal myself behind an old lady's
petticoat or a lady's old petticoat or something of that nature.
Whoever wore the thing must have been a very short person indeed, for
the garment reached scarcely down to my knees, below which my B.V.D.'s
fluttered in an intriguing manner.
"Sir," thundered a pompous gentleman, "have you any explanation for
your surprising conduct?"
"Several," I replied briskly from behind my only claim on
respectability. "In the first place, I didn't expect an audience. In
the second--"
"That will do, sir," broke in this heavy person in a quarterdeck
voice. "Who, may I ask, are you?"
"You may," I replied. "I'm a God-fearing sailor man who is doing the
best he can to keep nice and clean in spite of the uncalled for
intervention of a red-faced oaf of a plumber person who should know
better than to stand around watching him."
[Illustration: "I'M A GOD-FEARING SAILOR MAN WHO IS DOING THE BEST HE
CAN TO KEEP CLEAN"]
"Don't take on so, George," said one of the women whom I suspected of
edging around in order to get a better view of me, "the poor young man
is a sailor--where is your patriotism?"
"Yes," broke in the other woman, edging around on the other side,
"he's one of our sailor boys.
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