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I had noticed this at Cannes, where she had drawn my attention in this manner on various occasions to such diverse objects as a French actress, a Provençal filling station, the sunset over the Estorels, Michael Arlen, a man selling coloured spectacles, the deep velvet blue of the Mediterranean, and the late mayor of New York in a striped one-piece bathing suit.
"'Louis, over there he's got six boys been chasing everything in skirts since they were big enough to sit on a tractor. I wouldn't trade you for two of them. "'Two! I said. 'Three, anyway. "'He'd be getting a deal at three, my father said." Arlen smiled and lifted his glass in the general direction of his father. "All right!" Oliver said.
They talked late and their decision before turning in was that the three patrol leaders, Roy, Connie Bennett and Arthur Van Arlen should go to Bridgeboro late in the afternoon and tell their scoutmaster, Mr. Ellsworth, of their discovery.
"Bazumas, Olive Oil! My God! I thought I'd never see her again. I asked if I could paint her. She said yes but I'd have to drive to Maryland." George hung his head. "It's a curse art." "Maryland's just down the way," Arlen said. "Arlen, my car!" George threw one arm in the air. "I'm lucky it starts. Maryland?" "Life is hard," Oliver said. "Food," Arlen said, heading for the kitchen.
He made it past the city and began to wear down. He didn't need to hurry Arlen wasn't expecting him home for a couple of days. He turned off the highway and stopped at a motel. He put his bag on a chair and lay down for a moment. Had he done the right thing? Or was he just running away from commitment? He was in a bind.
Maybe that will make it seem not quite so bad." One of the things that made me feel especially bad was that Wig Weigand and Artie Van Arlen were there working, even after being nearly killed the night before, and Artie was kind of lame, too, from straining his ankle when he fell. Gee, I had to hand it to those fellows.
So I got up and said, "How are we going to crowd twenty four growing boys and a parrot into a twenty foot launch?" "It can't be did," Doc Carson shouted. "Then some of us will have to hike it on our dear little feet," I said. "Or else we'll have to get a barge or something or other and tow it," Artie Van Arlen said. "What, with a three horse-power engine?" somebody else shouted.
Oliver took special pleasure in pouring a Glenlivet for Arlen. They stood in amiable silence as rain dripped from the barn roof. "Couple of cows and I'd be right at home," Arlen said. "I've been thinking of getting a little John Deere." "Well they can come in handy." "I guess." Oliver's thoughts drifted to Jacky. She appeared, on cue, walking up the drive. He met her with a hug. "Jacky!
"Congratulations," Martha said. "Oh, thank you!" Jennifer jumped up and hugged her. "Come on, Oliver. We've got to move." A week later, Oliver was sleeping in a new bed, high off the floor. The physical move doesn't take long, he thought; getting used to it takes a while. He missed knowing that Arlen and Porter were downstairs.
So now good-bye dear old Mum and don't worry, and I won't go near Paris like you said. Hicksville is good enough for me. Your loving son. There was something about this old missive which sobered the bantering troop of scouts and made even Pee-wee quiet and thoughtful. "It's a letter he was going to send," Artie Van Arlen finally said. "Who?" Doc Carson asked. Artie shrugged his shoulders.
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