Suds In Your Eye by Mary Lasswell Read Free Book Online Page B

know the kind of postcards you like, but they would never get by the censor these days!’
    His aunt chuckled reminiscently as she thought of some of the more fruity cards Danny had sent her from the Coconut Grove a couple of times.
    ‘We’re only in for a couple of days,’ Danny said. ‘Just pick up some supplies, and then shove off again.’ He picked up a brown-paper parcel he had dropped by the door when he sneaked up on the beer-drinkers.
    ‘What’s that?’ cried Mrs. Feeley eagerly.
    ‘Dirty clothes!’ Danny said, holding the bundle high up out of his aunt’s reach. ‘Come on!’ he teased. ‘Break out the washing machine! I’ve got to have these washed and ironed to take back to the ship with me in the morning!’
    When he had tantalized her long enough, Danny opened the bundle and proceeded to divide the loot. Lucky he had so many souvenirs, he thought, with all these extra ‘aunts’ looking on with longing eyes. He was sorry now he hadn’t bought that grass hula skirt; it would have been perfect for Miss Tinkham. But he guessed the carved ivory fan with the purple feathers would have to do.
    Miss Tinkham was overcome. There was no doubt about the young man’s kinship to Mrs. Feeley: he had inherited her generous heart.
    Sizing up Mrs. Rasmussen’s figure, he handed her a gaudy Hawaiian printed sport shirt. She thanked him delightedly and without further ado donned the shirt, smock-fashion over her house dress.
    The supreme moment was approaching.
    First Danny gave his aunt a small, slithery bundle wrapped in tissue paper. With a long-drawn shriek of delight she unrolled a scarlet-brocaded silk komono.
    ‘Look on the back,’ Danny advised.
    When she turned the garment over, she disclosed an enormous fire-breathing dragon worked in gold thread.
    ‘Gawd!’ whispered Mrs. Feeley. ‘I’ll never be able to take my nap with that varmint breathin’ down the back o’ my neck!’
    Next he handed her a small cardboard box. When opened it revealed a bottle of ‘My Sin.’
    ‘This is the McCoy!’ Danny said, indicating the perfume. ‘Go easy with it, because there’s not any more where that came from.’
     

     
    The ladies sniffed reverently at the sealed bottle, much impressed by its name. Danny chuckled to himself as he thought of their sins.
    Now Danny played his ace: he unwrapped a round object from its cotton batting and handed Mrs. Feeley a pink-and-blue enameled powder box. It was a lovely thing, and Mrs. Feeley set it down on the table where they could all see it.
    ‘Take the lid off,’ Danny said.
    She obeyed, and the powder box began to tinkle out the tune ‘Anchors Aweigh,’ to the astonishment of the ladies.
    ‘It’s playin’ “Stand Navy,” damned if it ain’t!’ cried Mrs. Feeley, who had her own version of song titles.
    The music box was the piéce de résistance of the occasion: it really bowled them over. One by one the ladies came over and kissed Danny. He showed them how to stop the music by putting the lid on, and pointed out the screw on the bottom to wind it up.
    ‘Just like a clock,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said. The mention of a clock reminded her of her duties. ‘Five o’clock! And not a bite nor sup to eat ready in this house!’ She darted to the back of the room and began banging pots and pans at a great rate.
    Mrs. Feeley and Danny were having fresh beer and Miss Tinkham was setting the table and making herself useful generally. Danny was getting caught up on the news, and hearing the details of the new set-up. He had always liked Mrs. Rasmussen, and the other old dame seemed like a good spud too. It made it nice for his aunt to have company.
    ‘You ought to be doing a land-office business with the yard these days,’ he remarked.
    ‘Well, some days ‘tain’t so bad. But I aim to take it kinda easy. Didn’t tell you I was goin’ to school, did I?’
    Danny whooped.
    ‘It’s the Gawd’s honest truth,’ his aunt assured him. If he had not been a trusting