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Updated: May 12, 2025
I could not get my arms down to my sides at all. I could only use them flapper fashion. I felt like a penguin. I imagine I looked a good bit like one too. But I did not blame myself, who was the real criminal, or the grocer who was accessory before the fact. I put the fault on the tailor, who was innocent.
In truth, the flapper had sniffed before uttering it, and the sniff had meant good-natured contempt but Bean had lost the sniff. Now he had it! Tommy Hollins! He identified the youth, a yellow-headed, pink-faced lout in flannels who was always riding over, and who seemed to "go in" for nearly everything. He had detected a romping intimacy between the two. So it was Tommy Hollins.
It was usually probable that Grandma, the Demon, would join them, the silver cigarette case dangling at her girdle. Then was he sorely beset. They would perhaps talk about him over his head, discuss his points as if he were some new beast from the stables. "I tell you, he's over an inch taller than I am," announced the flapper.
She even admitted to her secret self that in time to come far, far-off time to come, she would like to become like Aunt Maria in this respect and cast aside her own impetuous, storm-tossed ways. At seventy one ought to be calm and slow to wrath, but at fifteen! Who could expect a poor little flapper of fifteen to be anything but fire and flame!
He suspected that the flapper wouldn't find it funny to keep the thing from poor old Pops more than a few days longer. "I'll be drawing my last pay next Saturday," he told himself. "Telephone for Boston Baked," called the office-boy wit, late in the afternoon. Bulger looked sympathetic. "Same trouble I have," he confided as Bean passed him, "Take 'em on once and they bother the life out of you."
Flapper, who had joined us, was the first to propose this visit: he said he did not mind the fifteen francs which Jack owed him for billiards, but he was anxious to GET BACK HIS PISTOL. Accordingly, we sallied forth, and speedily arrived at the hotel which Attwood inhabited still.
She was fixedly regarding on a plate before her a limp, pickled fish with one glazed eye staring aloft. "Never felt better in my life," declared Bean. "Don't care how this little old steamer teeters now. Got my sea-legs." "Me, too," said the flapper, but with a curious diminution of spirit. She still hung on the hypnotic eye of the pickled fish. "Ham and cabbage!" said Bean proudly to the waiter.
Again Breede looked respectful, and the flapper listened, lustrous-eyed. The finish was close. With two men out in the last half of the ninth and two strikes called on the batter, a none too certain single brought in the winning run. The clinging trio shrieked then dazedly fell apart. Life had gone from the magic. The vast crowd also fell apart to units, flooding to the narrow gates.
He tried at first to talk to the flapper about Tommy Hollins, whom he airily designated as "that Hollins boy". It seemed to be especially needed, because the Hollins boy arrived after breakfast every day and left only in the late afternoon. But the flapper declined nevertheless to consider him as meat for serious converse.
It did not attack her. It did worse. It admired her ...impudently. It spoke of her once as "Norah," and once as "the Scrope Flapper." Its headline proclaimed: "Plucky Flappers Hold Up L. G." THE night after his conversation with Eleanor was the first night of the bishop's insomnia. It was the definite beginning of a new phase in his life.
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