—3—
Another party with the Captain. He thought Ben’s the best entertainment he’d had in a long time, and Ben just lapped up appreciation. The two of them got plastered to the eyes and thought they owned the city.
This night we went to what was supposed to be the wildest show in Paris and I was forced to sit between those two and listen to Ben’s barbaric comments being echoed and approved by the Captain, who approved not only because of Ben’s funny cracks, but also because he liked some of those sensuous looking creatures who paraded across the stage in their birthday suits.
When a big-tummied blonde made her appearance, Ben piped up, “Pull in yer belt there, Blondy!” and everyone laughed at him, so he added, “This is a burlesque show, not a baby farm!”
People all over the house heard him and applauded, and the Captain said, “You tell ’em, Ben.... We want to see a few little ones.”
“Look at the hips on ’at one with the black hair—the second one from the end!” Ben observed a little later. “Looks just like a lollypop to me, Captain!”
“Built for comfort and speed,” laughed the Captain. “How much you bid for it, Ben?”
“If ye’re sure she’s in first class runnin’ order, Captain, I’d ’low about ten sous fer that on a good night!”
“How much on the one in the middle of the second row?”
“Aw, I wouldn’t give her standin’ room in a bed!” declared Ben. “Breastworks like the defenses of Verdun ... too big fer this boy. I don’t like beeg women!... Eh, Leony?”