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by Father's saying, "I am just a plebe at this guillotine. Have a
hunk of my roast beef hash."
What angered Father was Mrs. Harkness's voice grown merciless
with excitement, as she studied
his
hewing and hacking. She was
sure to say something tactless about how Commander Billy was "a
stingy artist at carving who could shave the eagle off the dollar
bill."
Nothing could stop Commander Billy, that born carver, from
reciting verses:
((By carving my way
I lived on my pay;
This
reeward,
though small,
Beats none at all
. .
My carving paper-thin
Can make a guinea
hin,
All giblets, bones, and skin,
Supply a party of
tin."
And I, furious for no immediate reason, blurted out, "Mother,
how much does Grandfather Winslow have to fork up to pay for
Daddy's carving school?"
These Sunday dinners with the Harknesses were always wound–
ingly boisterous affairs. Father, unnaturally outgoing, would lead
me forward and say, "Bilge, I want you to meet my first coupon
from the bond of matrimony."
Commander Billy would answer, "So this is the range-finder
you are raising for future wars!" They would make me salute, stand
at attention, stand at ease. "Angel-face," Billy would say to me,
"you'll skipper a flivver."
"Jimmy" Harkness, of course, knew that Father was anxiously
negotiating with Lever Brothers' Soap, and arranging for his resig–
nation from the service, but nothing could prevent her from proposing
time and again her "hens' toast to the drakes." Dragging Mother to
her feet, Jimmy would scream, "To Bob and Bilgy's next battleship
together !"
What Father and Commander Billy enjoyed talking about most
was their class of '07. After dinner, the ladies would retire to the
upstairs sitting room.
As
a special privilege I was allowed to remain
