“Tomson, (of the Barber’s-Own School), spent the entire afternoon trying to convince Miss ⸺ that his own peculiar method of painting is the acme of art. Miss ⸺ seemed delighted with his efforts, and thinks his pictures are “just lovely.” She wants him to attempt an imaginary portrait of the sea serpent.
Owing to the ceaseless motion of the boat, Tomson’s pictures are decidedly impressionistic.”
—“And then Bill Weatherbones gave us his version of the great naval combat at Santiago, in which he took a very prominent part. ‘I tole yer how it wuz,’ Bill began; ‘it wuz dis way, sur. I wuz a-settin’ on de aft hatch a-smokin’ a cigar Bill Sampson giv’ me, an’ Bill an’ Winnie Schley wuz a-workin’ out a little game wid de cards. Bill t’rowed down his papes an’ sed,—
“I
aint
got
no
luck,
I got to shake yuse fellers. Mc. he’s sent me de wire to go over an’ chin dat man Shafter, wot’s runnin’ de army push, an’ make him git a move on hisself.” “Don’t go, Bill,” sez I, “send one o’ de gang, it’s too hot fer yer, wot’s de good yer workin’?” “Dem aint me orders,” sez Bill, den turnin’ to Winnie Schley, he giv’ him de stern look, an’ sed, “Winnie, yer do de stunts here till I gets back wid meself, an’ if de Spaniels tries ter get out de bottle squirt de guns on ’em.” “I’m on,” sez Winnie, an’ he giv’ me de wink, “if de farmers shows up I shoots.” Den de Admiral he gits in his little ya’t an’ sails off. Winnie den piped up de grog all eround, an’ de game went on ag’in. I aint much stuck on de game de navy push puts up, it’s on de squar’, an’ so I set dere gappin’ an’ feedin’ me face, while de boys plays. All of a sudding I seen over dere where de guy Hobson sinked de Merrymac some smoke. I wunk t’ meself, but didden say nothin’ to break de boys up, but soon Winnie Schley looked up an’ seen it. “Hully gee!” he yelled, “de blokes is a-chasin’ out,” an’ he grabbed a bunch o’ flags an’ did de signal act o’ his life. He worked dose flags till he looked like a skirt dancer. De udder ships looked like a back yard wid de clothes-line full of red-flannel shirts from de wavin’ de guys put up. “Git dem guns loaded,” yelled Schley, “yuse blokes look lively, dere.” Boom! busted out one o’ de big guns, an’ de noise it knock de win’ outten me works. It hit de Spaniel an’ turned him bottom upwards; when he come up ag’in he shot his gun at us, but it wuz half a mile too high. Schley he rung out de joyous laugh. “Dere optics aint no good,” sez he, den he lets anudder ball go at him dat went clean t’rough him an’ hit anudder ship two miles off an’ sunk it in a minnit. Den up comes anudder Spaniel, an’ I seen⸺’”
