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The Boy Scouts of the Air at Cape Peril. Henry James O'Brien Bedford-Jones
Читать онлайн.Название The Boy Scouts of the Air at Cape Peril
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4064066064433
Автор произведения Henry James O'Brien Bedford-Jones
Жанр Документальная литература
Издательство Bookwire
"Which ale shall we drink it in," shouted Hardy, "Adam's or ginger!"
"Ginger!" roared the lads with one accord. The suggestion being thus noisily approved, the ginger-ale was produced and drained off with great gusto. Then Hardy, after a few introductory chords on his guitar, started to bellow out his verse to a rollicking tune, while he flourished one hand in the most approved orchestra-leader fashion:
"A jolly rover of the air,
A seasoned bird am I.
There's not a venture I'd not dare,
When sweeping through the sky.
I feel my blood
Surge to the flood,
As I mount up the sky.
"Now, boys," he paused to exhort, "all join in and put plenty of punch in your singing. Now:
"Up, up she wings; the motor sings;
I guide her at my pleasure.
High o'er the world Windjammer swings
To paths no soul can measure.
The sphere below
Shrinks as we go
To heights no gauge can measure.
"Next spasm," shouted the leader. "Rip it out!
"I maul the moon around the rink;
The stars I bowl and batter;
I put the sunball on the blink;
The sheeplike clouds I scatter.
It's bully fun
To see them run—
The curling clouds I shatter.
"I crumple up the hurricanes;
I flip the ticklish breezes;
I smash the hail to window-panes,
And roll the snow in cheeses.
I churn the air
Until the Bear
High in the heavens sneezes.
"Either Bear you choose, boys. Ursa Major or Ursa Minor. We'll go out and take a look at them presently. Now, all together!"
Down came every fist on the table till the glasses bounced and rattled an accompaniment to the last stanza:
"Whir-whir-whir-whir-whir-whir;
Throb, throb, throbby, throbbity;
And purr, purr, purr-purr, purr, purr;
Bob, bob, bobby, bobbity;
Buzz, buzz, buzz;
Suzz, suzz, BUZZ;
Chob, chob, chobby, chobbity.
Wow!"
This rigmarole was rendered time and again, each time with more tremendous clatter than the time before. But even boy energy ebbs at last, and the tumult began to die away.
"It's all slightly exaggerated," said Hardy, "as Mark Twain declared when told of a report of his own death, but it expresses my feelings, and, I believe, the feelings of every flyer that ever trimmed a bird."
"You bet it does," agreed the chorus.
Then the conviviality moderated into a short discussion of the joys of flying.
During all this jollity several hours had hurried by, and when the cuckoo clock announced eleven, and Hardy expressed the conviction that it was time for hard-working lads to be abed, it was with the greatest difficulty that they managed to make a start. Finally, they got to the point of making a rush for their sleeping quarters, but, even then, the easy process of undressing was interrupted by frequent tussles and pillow fights before reaching the pajama stage.
"I am growing old, Mother," remarked Cat whimsically, donning the above-mentioned garment; "my pink pajamas are turning white. Tough the grudge all these laundries have against sporting colors."
Jimmy, meanwhile, was carefully slicking back his hair before retiring—a habit that he always indulged in, with the explanation that he didn't know whom he might meet in his sleep.
"Hullygully, ain't he cutie!" jeered Cat.
A few moments later, all three were stretched out on their cots, and, after a little more jabbering, silence fell.
"What are the wild waves saying, Legs?" abruptly broke forth Jimmy, who had been listening to the gentle wash of the surf on the shore.
"Saying, close your face and let me sleep," growled Legs, just feeling his first delicious drowsiness.
"Got me that time, didn't you?" Jimmy returned, and then he slowly composed:
"There is a young fellow named Legs
Who … trots on a pair of slim pegs;
He can … wiggle each ear …
In a way … that I fear …
He's kin to—a—a—a—"
But while drowsily trying to search out a suitable rhyme, he, too, fell asleep.
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