The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1922-06-15

qulSh sup. Say, lOOh ut llldI moon,
will you, like red Chinese lantern
hung from a star"
"Yep."
"La-la, ira la, ira la la la-tra la !"
"Sing to me, birdie-birdie-Tm game
on the poetry stuff if you are. That's
one Of the main excitements up here
-singin' on the water!"
Through the catacombic gloom they
smiled at each other.
When they play that ragtime lullaby
"No-lemme begin over again"
Sweet and low, sweet and low.
Wind of the western sea-e-e-e-
Blow-blow-tra la-la-
I'll remember the rest in a minute"
Mr.. Gilly piled a rapid paddle.
We won't go home until mornin'
We won't go home until mornin'-
won't we, Gilly?"
Sure we will. I'll have you back
in your twO-aday, southern exposure,
a little while after the convention is
finished singing its eleven o'clock
song and has presented the grand
master of the KokomO lodge with a
silver loving cup and tied the vote be-
tween Elkhart Lake and Minneapolis
for the next convention"
"Oh, gee!"
WHAT"
"T-I-say, what time is it by your
gold watch and chain?'
"Nine-thirty-th night Is young,
Morning Glory"
law, who wants to go over to that
little old dump anyway, Gilly! 1t
looks like a good spot for your favorite
funeral. II gOtta-wantta be back
by ten-I forgot something"
Mr. Gilly slowed his stroke; his
mouth took on a slight oblique slant
Of distemper.
Don't let me keep you up, Miss
Fink"
Lets turn around, Gilly. I bet them
movies over there would put a night
owl to sleep, Gee, how dead it looks
let's turn back"
Sure thing"
He swung around so suddenly that
she clutched at the sides of the shell
for balance.
"Gee-you got a temper like steel"
Silence.
Don't you get sore easy, though !"
II amt sore.'
The vigorous dipping of the paddle
and the swift cutting of water.
"Say, Gilly, amt you afraid of
breaking the speed laws?"
Silence.
A star streaked downward and died
in its flight. Miss Fink lay fiat back
ward in the boat, her face foreshort-
ened and upturned.
"ShOotin' stars luck, amt it, Gilly?"
'Dunno!'
She nestled deeper into her cushion,
one arm flung high in a semicircle
about her head and her lids so low
over her eyes that she might have
been sleeping Adriana.
Drlp-Drip-p! They foated silently,
In rustic of moving waters.
A smile trembled across Miss Fink's
lips and she opened them so that her
voice came softly, softly:
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind Of the western sea-e;
Blow. blow, breezes blow
Wind OF the western sea-e-e-e-
The Beach hotel cleaned yellow
from every window as if it were pos
ing for a picture postcard or where
to-spend-yOur-vacation pamphlet.
The dining room was cleared of it's
ished to a mirror. At the far end of
the room a clock pricked out in blue
and white electric bulbs glowed
against a blue and white cheesecloth
background.
Tropical palms, with skilfully dyed
frOnds and twined half way up with
brown cotton moss, huddled in a little
jungle around the piano and violin
accompaniment. Straight around the
desert of room, chairs, backs to wall
and legs touching, awaited action as
a stage library setting, discovered at
the rise of curtain, awaits the en-
trance of the French maid in her four
dollar silk stockings to tickle the fur
niture and the audience with tiny
feather buster and timer French ac-
cent.
After a while the scratching of a
violin for its note and the one finger
um-m-m-tum-m-m on the piano; the
light blather of voices rising to a swell.
Unstylish women in shOtted silk
dresses with waist lines and decent
width skirts and bodices cut high over
bosOms that would have quivered I'M
der baroness. The invitatiOnal rhythm
Of waltz music and pink-haired violin
list Swaying in the palm Jungle A