New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1919-03-02

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That was ALL outside of bunch
Of medical notes that read like race
horses pedigree at auction sale, crossed
with a chauffeurs license blank
As seaman apprentice he was rotten,
purely rotten. "He thinks too much to be
Of any use and he argues the whichness
Of the what until 1 damned near knocked
him into the lee scuppers," the quarter
master told the exec. "He amt no good;
make him into mess attendant" So they
made him.
Now the job of being mess attendant
is not all clover, nor is it all hell; not so
bad for an ex-waiter from a quick-lunch
cart, if you were hitched UP with c. P. o.
mess, but nothing to brag about if you
PASSED the grub for the "old man." with
sea running on and a periscope two miles
astern waiting to take pop shots at you if
the sea ever gets fiat enough to let the
hound get steady range.
And so they sent him to wait on the
"old man." with temper like twelve
pound lobster and a line of curse words
that made the port turbine quit when he
let out in sheer sympathy.
Well, he took his gaff like a man. he
took all the damning that should have been
the cooks, the commissary stewards,
the quartermaster's, the assistant pay,
off ba
took it without whmper without a smile
1t was all in his bit, and the skipper find
ing him an apt record, filled the disk good
and plenty and tried out all his newly
coined pet lines before he handed them to
the master at arms and the chief engineer,
who had his trouble making a greyhound
out Of a battleship.
They called him "The Little Mess" and
the name stuck like barnacle to the bilge
keel.
What was more he learned to serve
Where he got his knowledge no one knew,
but the silver was laid out as it should be,
knives and forks in the proper layers,
glasses polished to a dazzle, china clean as
whistle, without trace of the morning
eggs, linen snow white and flower or so
when they hit port where such things
grew.
have heard mess attendants play the
accordion while the "old man" heaved his
soup, and hit off hoola hoolas on the
ukulele during the entree, and thus soothed
the cursing mind, but The Little Mess
was not of this brand. He waited in dumb
silence, watched each forkful go down
the big outlet and kept the supply trained
on the go until the ammunition dump was
full up. Then he lit the shippers long,
black stogie, cleaned off the last crumb
with all the airs of Waldorf Astoria artist
and beat it--without the tip.
It was at Brest, the game was nearly over,
and before they cast off for home the "old
man gave a dinner party to a bunch of
cronies and an admiral, for luck came over
the side and lay to along the table
Glasses and silver CLEANED, china shone
like hunk of mother of pearl, and the eats
came like the salvos from q thirteen-i inch
gun. There were flowers and dinner cards
thrown in as ballast and, on the whole. as
the cockney cook announced to the Jack
OF the Dust that hung about for clipping,
some dinner, me lad, some pictorial reel
OF grub, even if do say it."
"The Little Mess" was on the qui vive;
he fitted from place to place and yet never
was one inch left flank rear from the ad-
miral's elbow Some service, boy; some
service"
The shippers eyes twinkled when the big
solid band of gold with the lone star howled
up as he went over the side, "Pll swap you
eight mess attendants, two of whom are
ont ictc nd
nese cook to boot, for that grub rustler
Of yours" but the cold man" shook his
head and grunted back, HE quits, surveyed
out, when we touch New York; his times
up; you'll find him at the New York Yacht
Club grill or the Knickerbocker when you
run over"
The Little Mess went ashore when they
berthed he didn't even say goodby, he
vamoosed. He took taxi and disappeared,
God knows where
year later torpedo nit the skipper.
His wife passed down and out and left
behind her lot of bonds and stocks, a
few buildings, thing called life estate
and springing use that she had inherited
along with some hair jewelry and pile of
antique furniture from her father
These sorts of things don't regularly
appear in Bowditch Navigation Tables, al
though they most undoubtedly are there,
and the skipper scratched his head, quit
looking for them under the figures of the
suns right ascension and laid his course to
Wall Street, where he confded in bust
ness friend and asked for the correct lati-
tude and longitude at noon.
The business man knew that springng
things for sailor man TO keep clear Of
and that specialist must operate, so he
did bit of wire talk and wrote an address
on his card, sending the skipper to the best
hospital he knew for treatment.
1t was FIVE stories up, and there was a
glass door with the name in little black