Say, notice any deep sea roll about my walk? No? Well, maybe you can get the tarry perfume as I pass by? Funny you don’t; for I’ve been a Vice Commodore for most three weeks now. Yes, that’s on the level—belay my spinnaker taffrail if it ain’t!
That’s what I get for bein’ one of the charter members of the Rockhurst Yacht Club. You didn’t, eh? Well, say, I’m one of the yachtiest yachters that ever jibbed a gangway. Not that I do any sailin’ exactly; but I guess Sadie and me each paid good money for our shares of club stock, and if that ain’t as foolish an act as you can find in the nautical calendar, then I’ll eat the binnacle boom.
Course, this Vice Commodore stunt was sort of sprung on me; for I’d been such an active member I didn’t even know the bloomin’ clubhouse was finished until here the other day I gets this bulletin from the annual meetin’, along with the programme for the openin’ exercises.
“Gee!” says I. “Vice Commodore! Say, there must be some mistake about this.”
“Not at all,” says Sadie.
“Sure there is,” says I. “Why, I hardly know one end of a boat from the other; and besides I ain’t got any clubby habits. They’ve been let in wrong, that’s all. I’ll resign.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” says Sadie. “When I took all that trouble to have you win over that ridiculous Bronson-Smith!”
“Eh?” says I. “Been playin’ the Mrs. Taft, have you? In that case, I expect I’ll have to stay with it. But, honest, you can look for a season of perfectly punk Vice Commodorin’.”
As it turns out, though, there ain’t one in ten members that knows much more about yachtin’ than I do. Navigatin’ porch rockers, orderin’ all hands up for fancy drinks, and conductin’ bridge whist regattas was their chief sea-goin’ accomplishments; and when it come to makin’ myself useful, who was it, I’d like to know, that chucked the boozy steward off the float when he had two of the house committee treed up the signal mast?
I suspect that’s how it is I’m played up so prominent for this house warmin’ episode. Anyway, when I arrives there on the great night—me all got up fancy in a double breasted serge coat, white flannel pants, and cork soled canvas shoes—I finds they’ve put me on the reception committee; and that, besides welcomin’ invited guests, I’m expected to keep one eye peeled for outsiders, to see that nobody starts nothin’.