Part 24 (1/2)
I start droning out the chords on the concertina, but it's Gully's deep voice that's carrying the tune.
”The first thing we drank to
We drank to the Queen
Glorious, glorious, glorious Queen!
If she have one son, may she also have ten!
Have a whole bleedin army cry the soph.o.m.ores,
Amen!”
Gully does the chorus again, and the crowd, getting the form of it now, joins in with gusto, and then Gully sings the next verse, which is about the Prince and his horses, 'cept the crowd don't sing ”soph.o.m.ores” and other college words, they put in sailors or soldiers or whatnot, dependin' on their trade. The ladies in attendance pretend to blush like they ain't never heard words like these before. Then it's the chorus again and on to the last verse.
”The next thing we drank to
We drank to the King
Glorious, glorious, glorious King!
If he have one mistress, may he also have ten!
Have a whole bloomin brothel cry the seniors,
Amen!”
I guess I should have seen that coming, but what's the harm in it, I thinks, the place is jumping and they all roar into the last chorus thumping the tables, stamping their feet, and making the rafters ring with their roaring, and they are as brothers.
More coins are tossed to us as we leave the stage, and just then Amy comes up to the table where the college boys are seated and says, ”Gentlemen, another?”
”By G.o.d, yes!” says one of the boys, and Amy leans in to pick up the empty gla.s.ses. I see out of the corner of my eye that Randall is still looking at me, leaning back in his chair, his legs in their white breeches crossed, his knee-high black boots gleaming in the lamplight. He has lit a cheroot and draws on it and sends a puff of smoke in my direction.
”Watch your hands, Sir,” warns Amy, and Randall, distracted from his examination of me, looks languidly over in the direction of her voice. That's the last languid thing he does this day.
He shoots to his feet. ”Get your hands off her, Chadwick!”
”Wot? Trevelyne has dibs on all the dollies? It ain't fair!” protests the baffled Chadwick, as Randall grabs Amy's arm and hustles her off to the alcove at the end of the bar, where they will not be seen by his cohorts, and he puts her up against the wall.
”Just what in h.e.l.l do you think you are doing?” he says, furious.
John Thomas notices all this, however, and makes a move toward them, but I put my hand on his chest and hold him back with ”Don't, John. It's a family matter.” John Thomas has become the self-appointed guardian-at-the-Pig of me, during his time ash.o.r.e, and now of Amy, too, 'cause he feels responsible for getting me thrown in jail that time, and I can't say I'm sorry to have his rough protection.
I go to the bar to get a tray to take up Amy's slack and I catch a bit of what is said between the warring Trevelynes.
Amy squinches up her nose and comes back at him with, ”I am learning a trade, Randall. What do you think you will be doing when Father loses everything? Join a grand regiment? Somehow I do not think that the finer units are hiring very junior officers from country militias just now!”
”You watch your mouth, Sister!”
”You let go of me, Randall! I am not afraid of you anymore.”
”Here, here!” says Bob, coming up with his club. ”Get away, barkeep,” Randall snarls. ”Back to your slops.”
”Tsk, tsk, you must think I'm one of those barkeeps what don't like pounding the n.o.bs of spoiled little rich boys,” says Bob with a grin. ”You are sadly mistaken in that notion, lad.” He hauls back his club and starts his swing at Randall's head.
”She is my sister!” says Randall, hunching up his shoulder to take the threatened blow. ”Now leave off!” he says with what little dignity he has left.
Bob looks dubious but Amy nods and Bob lowers his club and says, ”Well, hurry it up. She's needed out front.”
I go by them to the bar and I see that both sets of Treve-lyne teeth are bared.
”'Tis by keeping company with that low-life vagabond that has made you this way,” he hisses.
”She is giving me instructions in how to make my way in the world while poor and dest.i.tute, Brother,” Amy hisses right back at him. ”And I a.s.sure you, she is an excellent teacher!”
Low-life vagabond? Well, I've been called much worse since first I set foot in Yankeeland, and actually, it sums me up pretty well, so I shan't take offense.
I don't hear more, as I take the tray of gla.s.ses meant for the college boys and go to their table. One grins and goes to grab my bottom and I scoots sideways. Boys! I swear, why can't they be good?
”You must behave yourselves in here, young gentlemen,” I says. ”There are some in here who would cheerfully rough you up and throw you out all b.l.o.o.d.y into the street.”