Jasper said he had been a plumber’s apprentice at home and was capable of installing the rest-rooms.
‘What’s a club without a rest-room?’ he asked.
‘What’s any place without a rest-room?’ Mrs. Feeley challenged.
The red-head said he would do the electric wiring. Each of the boarders was full of clever ideas about the club and the ladies could see that the project had already become vitally important to the men.
Next morning Mrs. Feeley went out to the junk-yard all by herself. She had to give her imagination full play and did not want anyone along to distract her. The outlook was pretty bleak. There was not much left in the way of building materials. The club had to accommodate at least a dozen men—and she knew how men were, always bragging and bringing other fellows home to show off their club room. Be a regular band of Indians there every night. For a while she thought she was stymied. Katy would be ashamed of the resourceful, the indomitable Mrs. Feeley if she couldn’t figure out a way to dig up enough old rubbish to build the boys a playhouse!
All at once she had it.
‘Be a little unusual,’ she said, aloud, ‘but then nothin’ we ever does is exactly run o’ the mill!’
She hurried over to the pile of doors, large paneled wooden doors that Mr. Feeley bought when they tore down some of the buildings at the Exposition. With narrowed eyes she counted them. Then she made her way quickly to the Ark. The others were getting lunch ready. By Mrs. Feeley’s face they knew she had reached a solution.
‘’Tain’t for nothin’ Mr. Feeley always said I was born with a horseshoe in the seat o’ my pants! Them doors!’
‘What good’s the doors with no house to hang ’em on?’ Mrs. Rasmussen asked.
Mrs. Feeley looked mysterious. ‘I was watchin’ two bees out there, an’ they gimme a idea!’ she said.
‘Please don’t tantalize us any longer!’ Miss Tinkham cried, ‘We’re expiring of curiosity!’
‘Well, the dawn has about came!’ Mrs. Feeley said. ‘I sees them bees workin’ away, an’ my eye lights on them doors an’ I says what’s to keep us from buildin’ a eight-sided room out of ’em?’
‘An octagonal room! How charming!’ Miss Tinkham gasped, fluttering her eyelids.
‘Too small,’ Mrs. Rasmussen dissented. ‘Be no bigger than a summer-house in a garden!’
‘That’s where nature-study helps,’ Mrs. Feeley grinned.
Miss Tinkham did not quite get the connection, but she had faith in Mrs. Feeley’s ideas.
‘Nature shall not pause nor falter, though nations shatter!’ she said.
‘Them damn bees don’t pause,’ Mrs. Feeley agreed. ‘You know how they make combs? One little cell onto another?’
The ladies nodded.
‘Well, that’s the idea! We’ll join three parts together. Just like a honeycomb—we got enough doors to do it—I counted ’em!’ Mrs. Feeley announced proudly.
‘What an inspiration!’ Miss Tinkham said. ‘The octagon is one of the most economical of geometrical figures; the bees use it because it is a great space-saver.’
Mrs. Rasmussen was eye-minded. She found a piece of paper and a stub of pencil and started drawing. Slowly the light broke.
‘There won’t be nothin’ like it this side o’ Kingdom Come,’ she said admiringly. ‘You aim to hook ’em up one after the other like rooms in a railroad flat, ain’t it?’
Mrs. Feeley nodded.
‘Three eight-sided rooms! Where the two end ones joins the middle, you won’t use no doors—leave it open like a archway?’ Once she got a pencil in her hand she caught on. ‘Just one entrance door—in the front o’ the middle room!’
‘Yeup!’ Mrs. Feeley chirped. ‘Be closed all the way around ’cept for two doors that will get hinges.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, they’s two little Vs, little angles, where the side rooms joins the middle one, ain’t they? Now I’m talkin’ about the ones at the back side o’ the house.’ The ladies nodded. ‘Well, we’re gonna seal them back angles up on the outside with scrap lumber an’ use them two places for the rest-rooms!’
‘Jeez!’ Mrs. Rasmussen sat down suddenly, overcome by the sight of genius at work. ‘Be awful small, won’t they?’
‘That’s all right! Ain’t but one person supposed to be in there at a time, anyway!’ Mrs. Feeley settled that.
‘I don’t know where your ideas spring from,’ Miss Tinkham complimented.
‘Well,’ the architect replied modestly, ‘we gotta cut our coat accordin’ to our cloth these days!’
When the boarders were shown the plan for the club, they said Mrs. Feeley should be designing airplane carriers with a brain like that.
‘An’ cozy, too!’ Oscar said. ‘Won’t be a lotta long bare walls to decorate neither! Be duck soup to build! Them doors already made!’
Jasper thought it would be cute to have built-in upholstered seats around some of the walls with little tables in front of them.
‘An’ a movable bar at one end!’ the red-head said.
‘An awning canopy over the front door,’ another suggested.
‘What about the roof?’ Mrs. Rasmussen asked.
Mrs. Feeley said there was enough tin left from what had once been a large bill-board.
‘You can’t stump her!’ Oscar said with pride.
‘An’ the roof an’ awnings is gonna be painted in blue an’ yellow stripes, like a circus tent!’ the genius continued.
‘What about the window glass?’ somebody asked.
Mrs. Feeley tried not to look smarty as she answered:
‘I’d thought about cuttin’ out the upper sections of a few o’ them doors, puttin’ ’em back with hinges at the top, an’ proppin’ ’em with window-sticks when we need ’em open—don’t need no glass thataway.’
Saturday afternoon the boarders arranged to get off early and begin work on the Four Freedoms. Oscar said there was no use doing it unless it was done right, so he took a few boards, laid out a foundation, and poured the concrete. They thought it would make a fine floor by the time they got it painted and waxed. Mrs. Rasmussen fixed an extra super de luxe dinner for the workers. Since they planned to work all day Sunday, she told them she would serve dinner at noon; there would be no time lost that way and they could pick up a snack at night.
All day Sunday the hammers banged and the saws whined. Somebody said it looked rather scrappy, all those doors different colors and what-not.
Mrs. Feeley snorted: ‘Never show children an’ fools anythin’ half-finished!’
She knew how the Four Freedoms would look in her mind’s eye from the very first—beautiful azure-blue walls, and the roof and awnings the same except for a wide lemon-yellow stripe.
Since Mrs. Feeley had donated the lumber and the tin Oscar said it was only fair that the club should pay for the nails, the paint, and the concrete for the floor. The men bought some small round tables at a second-hand store and some auto-top covering for the upholstery of the built-in benches.
The red-head worked for two evenings in the shed, and the third night wheeled out an attractive and practical bar. The wheels were on the front end and the back end rested on two feet. The bar was pushed along by handles at the back end like a refreshment cart. He painted it blue and yellow to match the awning stripes. Someone else bought an old ice-chest for fifty cents and painted it blue and yellow also. They could not be bothered emptying the ice-drips all the time, so they attached a piece of garden hose to the drain, bored a hole in the wall down near the floor, and ran the hose out into the garden to drain—that chest would hold lots of beer.
When Jasper cut the running water into the toilets, two seatless affairs that had seen better days, he installed a pipe for running water just behind the bar.
‘Need it to wash the glasses,’ he said.
‘Gawd!’ Mrs. Feeley exclaimed, ‘who’s gonna bother about that? That’s the nice part about our club—we don’t have to worry about sterilizin’ no glasses, on account
o’ we’re all pure, or we couldn’t be givin’ blood to the bank! Sure simple-izes dishwashin’!’
The radio was installed ready to be hooked up when the boys tapped the electricity. Oscar said he’d help the red-head do the job, but it was best to wait till after dark. The public utilities people were pirates, and if they caught anybody snitching a little juice on the side, they would really make things hot!
The club was set for the grand opening Saturday evening.
Friday night Red planned to hook up the electric current—not to Mrs. Feeley’s meter. No sense to that; the light company would never miss it.
Friday morning a bespectacled individual rang the bell at the Ark. He informed Mrs. Feeley that he and his crew of linemen had come to connect the wires for her—at the request of Public Service. They would make a special concession in this case and connect the wires to the light meter of the Ark, as extra meters were unavailable at the moment.
‘Damned if that ain’t noble of you!’ Mrs. Feeley snorted. ‘Where’d you get that fruity-fied voice? Gurgles and drips, it does!’ The rest of her remarks were not calculated to win friends and influence people.
‘The club’ll have to pay the ’lectric bill outa them dues!’ Mrs. Rasmussen announced.
The Noah’s Arkies did not press the issue of the legitimate wiring too far. Best let well enough alone, or the city would be down on them with some ordinance or other.
Friday afternoon Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Feeley put the finishing touches on the club. They painted red curtains on the frames around the windows—very swish and drapy, and they would not need washing or take up as much room as real ones. The desks and round tables were painted red, too. The finished room was cheery and comfortable.
Mrs. Rasmussen was baking cheese-straws and making cayenne potato chips for the opening night. Each club member had pledged himself to obtain a case of beer by fair means or foul. Daphne and Darleen were coming over. Old Timer was giving the red-cement floor a final waxing by the simple expedient of sliding
back and forth across it on a brick wrapped in burlap. Red arrived with a donation: two dozen nice beer-glasses: all alike, too! Miss Tinkham got busy and wrote the names of the club members on the glasses with red nail-polish. Such a personal touch would make them feel right at home. All was in readiness at last and Miss Tinkham declared that the tout ensemble was charming.
‘If you don’t beat all!’ Mrs. Feeley laughed. ‘Who ever heard of a tootin’ cymbal?’
Oscar was elected president of the Four Freedoms Bar and Social Club by acclamation. One of the Four-F Commandos was elected treasurer. They decided that two officers would be plenty. If they needed a bouncer, Old Timer could be it—he had a neat trick of butting people in the stomach with his head. He picked it up when he was cook on the Star of India and it ‘sure come handy,’ as Mrs. Feeley said.
The meeting opened with a rising vote of thanks to the ladies of Noah’s Ark—for their good-fellowship, their help, and their tireless efforts on behalf of the poor, lone males. Mrs. Rasmussen was then tendered a flowery oration by the red-head who had never got over the molasses pie. Miss Tinkham was toasted by Oscar for her beauty, her glamour, and her unsurpassed musicianship. Then Jasper proposed a toast to Mrs. Feeley—the Queen Bee, the ruling spirit without whom none of their good fortune could ever have come to pass.
‘You, ma’am, have got the touch that makes the whole world kin!’ Jasper wound up. Shrieks of joy and many a rebel yell filled the air at that sentiment.
The crowd was getting pretty mellow, and some of the boys were beginning to harmonize ‘Down by the Old Mill Stream.’ Then Oscar had a brain-storm.
‘C’mon, fellers! What we need is the piano!’ Six of them ran to the Ark, and in a few minutes came puffing back with the piano. Miss Tinkham was thrilled silly and soon the entire group was bellowing away in a lung-shattering fashion:
‘A wild sort of devil,
But dead on the level.
Was m-y-y-y-y!
Ga-a-a-a-a-a-a-l!
Sa-a-a-a-a-a-a-l!’
The red-head asked Miss Tinkham if she would just sort of chord along with him and he launched into a ballad the burden of which was:
‘Please don’t wait for me, Darlin’!
We’d never be happy, I know!
’Cause I’ll always be a ex-convick!
An’ branded wherever I go.’
The gathering cheered him wildly and he promised more later.
Mrs. Feeley decided that the salon needed culture, that’s what, and suggested: ‘Miss Tinkham whyn’t you play some o’ that rumbly kinda music from Shizzeroo, an’ recite some o’ them verses about Omaha, the Tent Maker?’
Miss Tinkham was just at the loaf of bread and jug of wine stage about that time and was delighted to oblige. Mrs. Feeley’s pronunciation of Sheherazade was every bit as accurate as Miss Tinkham’s rendition of the music, but it did not matter, as it was only a background for the poetry—and besides the club members didn’t know the difference. The audience went wild. Miss Tinkham always maintained that it was a mistake to talk down to people and here was proof of it.
‘And now, Mrs. Feeley,’ Miss Tinkham said, with gracious intent to share the limelight: ‘it’s your turn! How about the charming Irish ditty you sang for me not so long ago?’ And Miss Tinkham began to play the rollicking tune.
‘Mi-mi-mi!’ Mrs. Feeley wanted to make sure her pipes were in good shape, then began with a colossal wink:
‘At McCarthy’s party
Everyone was hearty,
Mike hit Maloney on the nose!
Wit’ the handle o’ the broom
O’Hara cleared the room,
And then a riot arose.
‘Timmy Murphy and his cousin
Paryylized a half a dozen,
For they struck both long and hard!
Sure a number of the slain
They will never rise again,
For they’re sleepin’ in the ould churchyard!’
Into the deafening din and applause walked Danny Malone, of the United States Navy.
‘Jesus God! It is really you?’ Mrs. Feeley shrieked, throwing herself upon him. ‘Where’s Katy?’
‘If you’ll unclutch my throat, Dracula, I’ll be glad to tell you!’ Danny grinned.
Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham had hold of him now bussing him with beery vigor.
‘This is Danny, my nephew! An’ this is the Four Freedoms Bar an’ Social Club—our war-boarders, Danny!’
Danny shook hands all around. Darleen and Daphne goggled at actually seeing the legendary Danny in the flesh.
‘Why ain’t you wrote an’ where’s Katy?’ his aunt insisted.
‘Been busy as hell, got new orders! I’m on my way now—can’t say where! And Katy is in no condition to travel with the trains the way they are these days!’ he answered.
‘She’s not sick?’ Mrs. Feeley sobered up at once.
Danny shook his head and grinned: ‘She’s nesting,’ he said.
Mrs. Feeley sat down with a thud.
‘Thank God for that! The darlin’! Why didn’t you tell us?’ His aunt looked reproachful.
‘She wanted to surprise you when you come up!’
‘Up where?’ Mrs. Feeley asked suspiciously.
‘New York,’ Danny said.
Mrs. Feeley looked at her friends.
‘He sounded just like he said “New York”!’
‘I did. Katy can’t have the baby all by herself up there! I’m goin’ to sea for God only knows how long! She says she can’t face the ordeal without the four of you!’
At that Old Timer broke into a solemn clog-dance all by himself over in one corner.
‘Gawd! It’d be a picnic! But where’d we get the money?’ Mrs. Feeley asked.
‘We’ll get the tickets for you,’ Danny said.
‘Who’ll take care o’ the boarders?’ Mrs. Rasmussen asked.
‘We’ll cook for ourselves, if you’ll let us! Won’t we,
fellers?’ Oscar asked.
Miss Tinkham was already planning her wardrobe—and counting her money! She had heard of the marvelous thrift shops in New York.
‘Well, I ain’t sayin’ we’ll not go, with Katy needin’ us,’ Mrs. Feeley announced. ‘But a poor bunch o’ wanglers we’d be if we couldn’t raise our own passage for a little jaunt like that!’ Mrs. Feeley was a poor judge of distance, but not of her own capabilities.
‘You can argue about that later,’ Danny said. ‘But you will go, won’t you? I can’t sail with an easy mind unless I know I can count on you—her room is all engaged at the hospital!’
‘Gawd! We wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ Mrs. Feeley cried. ‘Just imagine me a grandmother!’
‘Grandmother?’ Mrs. Rasmussen queried, raising one eyebrow.
‘Gawd! I’m not your mother, am I, Danny?’ his aunt sighed. ‘But I couldn’t love you a bit more if I was!’
‘It’s Grandma you are, Prissy Britches!’ Danny consoled her. ‘Katy’s got nobody and the infant wouldn’t be legal without at least one grandparent—so you’re elected!’
‘Well, lads,’ Mrs. Feeley rose and prepared to go, ‘just leave one or two of the walls standing by way of souvenir! Outside of that, you can write your own ticket!’ And she went into the Ark for a confidential talk with Danny.
Chapter 13
DANNY left early next morning to join his new ship at San Francisco. Before he left, he made Mrs. Feeley promise to accept the money for the railway tickets if she could not raise it herself within the next few weeks.
The tax-money for the year was safe in the jar, and the ladies each had about fifty dollars saved. Mrs. Rasmussen said she could have made a lot more out of the boarders if she had resorted to dirty commercial tricks and fillers, but she did not think it would be cricket because the blood-bank would suffer.
The dues from the club took care of the light and water bills, with a nice margin left for beer and improvements. The club members voted to allow guest privileges to a few hand-picked friends on Saturday and Sunday nights only. They were also allowed to pay dues. Some nights there were as many as thirty fellows jammed into the little club room. The record-player did noble service, but Miss Tinkham’s community-singing sessions broke all records.
High Time Page 14
