"But—but what ought I to wear?" asks Rupert.
"Foolish question!" says I. "Who are you, anyway? Answer: the Sailor Poet. There you are! Sea captain's togs for you—double-breasted blue coat, baggy-kneed blue trousers, and a yachtin' cap."
"Very well," says Rupert. "But about my being asked to read. Just how—— "
"Leave it to me, Rupert," says I. "Leave everything to me."
Which was a lot simpler than tellin' him I didn't know.
You should have seen Vee's face when I tells her about Rupert's new line.
"Captain Killam a poet!" says she. "Oh, really now, Torchy!"
"Uh-huh!" says I. "He's done enough for a book. Read me some of it, too."
"But—but what is it like?" asks Vee. "How does it sound?"
"Why," says I, "it sounds batty to me—like a record made by a sailor who was simple in the head and talked a lot in his sleep. Course, I'm no judge. What's the difference, though? Rupert wants to spout it in public."