“The skirts all flutter and the rocking chairs squeak asme and Andy bows and then goes on in with old Smoke-’em-out to register. And then we washed up and turnedour cuffs， and the landlord took us to the rooms he’d beensaving for us and got out a demijohn of North Carolinareal mountain dew.
“I expected trouble when Andy began to drink. He hasthe artistic metempsychosis which is half drunk whensober and looks down on airships when stimulated.
“After lingering with the demijohn me and Andy goesout on the porch， where the ladies are to begin to earnour keep. We sit in two special chairs and then theschoolma’ams and literaterrers hunched their rockersclose around us.
“One lady says to me： ‘How did that last venture ofyours turn out， sir？’
“Now， I’d clean forgot to have an understanding withAndy which I was to be， the duke or the lieutenant. And Icouldn’t tell from her question whether she was referringto Arctic or matrimonial expeditions. So I gave an answerthat would cover both cases.
“‘Well， ma’am，’ says I， ‘it was a freeze out—right smartof a freeze out， ma’am.’
“And then the flood gates of Andy’s perorations wasopened and I knew which one of the renowned ostensibleguests I was supposed to be. I wasn’t either. Andy wasboth. And still furthermore it seemed that he was tryingto be the mouthpiece of the whole British nobility and ofArctic exploration from Sir John Franklin down. It wasthe union of corn whiskey and the conscientious fictionalform that Mr. W. D. Howletts admires so much.
“‘Ladies，’ says Andy， smiling semicircularly， ‘I am trulyglad to visit America. I do not consider the magnacharta，’ says he， ‘or gas balloons or snow-shoes in any waya detriment to the beauty and charm of your Americanwomen， skyscrapers or the architecture of your icebergs.
The next time，’ says Andy， ‘that I go after the North Poleall the Vanderbilts in Greenland won’t be able to turn meout in the cold—I mean make it hot for me.’
“‘Tell us about one of your trips， Lieutenant，’ says one ofthe normals.
“‘Sure，’ says Andy， getting the decision over a hiccup.
‘It was in the spring of last year that I sailed the Castle ofBlenheim up to latitude 87 degrees Fahrenheit and beatthe record. Ladies，’ says Andy， ‘it was a sad sight to see aDuke allied by a civil and liturgical chattel mortgage toone of your first families lost in a region of semiannualdays.’ And then he goes on， ‘At four bells we sightedWestminster Abbey， but there was not a drop to eat.
At noon we threw out five sandbags， and the ship rosefifteen knots higher. At midnight，’ continues Andy， ‘therestaurants closed. Sitting on a cake of ice we ate sevenhot dogs. All around us was snow and ice. Six times a nightthe boatswain rose up and tore a leaf off the calendar， sowe could keep time with the barometer. At 12，’ says Andy，with a lot of anguish on his face， ‘three huge polar bearssprang down the hatchway， into the cabin. And then—’
“‘What then， Lieutenant？’ says a schoolma’am， excitedly.
“Andy gives a loud sob.
“‘The Duchess shook me，’ he cries out， and slides out ofthe chair and weeps on the porch.
“Well， of course， that fixed the scheme. The womenboarders all left the next morning. The landlord wouldn’tspeak to us for two days， but when he found we hadmoney to pay our way he loosened up.
“So me and Andy had a quiet， restful summer afterall， coming away from Crow Knob with 1，100， that weenticed out of old Smoke-’em-out playing seven up.”