Free Tooner Schooner by Mary Lasswell Page A

brew.”
    “These is so big.” Mrs. Rasmussen looked at the packages. “What you got in ’em: furniture?”
    “Take ’em as they come,” the captain admonished.
    “What we need is a nice handy crowbar,” Mrs. Feeley laughed.
    “You’ve been peekin’, Mrs. Feeley!” Oscar laughed.
    “Put me on the lie detestor if you don’t believe me!”
    “This is from us fellows,” Jasper said. “You might’s well have it now.” Mrs. Feeley ripped open a package that contained modern, workmanlike tools.
    “Gawd, can’t I drill holes like mad now!” She flourished a brace and bit. “Lookit! The little baby crowbar! It’s grand!”
    “Bear a hand, will you?” Captain Dowdy tried to move out the biggest packing crate of all. Red and Jasper took hold of it and helped him haul it to the middle of the floor. “Lord!” he groaned as he tugged at the box. “I wish I’d a went to Yale instead a Hahvahd!”
    “What do we need with a iron safe?” Mrs. Feeley shouted. She began attacking the crate with her crowbar and quickly got to the excelsior and wrapping paper. Suddenly she stepped back and turned to Mrs. Rasmussen. “This is more in your line.”
    Mrs. Rasmussen came up slowly, almost reluctantly, and pulled away the last bit of brown covering paper. Her face was pale as she turned to the captain.
    “You shouldn’t orta done it.” She ran her hand lovingly across the white porcelain oven door.
    “Magnificent!” Miss Tinkham stepped in for her friend. “It will be the pride and joy of her life.”
    Mrs. Rasmussen stared at the floor.
    “Hell! Won it on a quiz show!” The captain slapped her on the back.
    “No you never.” She raised her face at last, her eyes filled with unbearable affection like a dog’s.
    “So I bought it,” he said gently. “They ent no pockets in shrouds.”
    “What the hell kinda party is this?” Mrs. Feeley shouted.
    “There’s just one more big item,” Jasper said, and the other three men moved over to help him. “We didn’t crate it, just put enough boards across it to keep you from monkeying with it.” He stood in front of the object tantalizingly. “Let’s unveil, boys!”
    The ladies were speechless. Mrs. Feeley recovered first.
    “You’ll all end up in the workhouse, every blasted one o’ you.”
    Miss Tinkham was on her knees, hands clasped in front of the little piano.
    “You guys sure blew a fuse,” Mrs. Feeley said.
    “Don’t be put off by the size,” Jasper said. “Wait till you hear the tone. It was a great big old-time Mason and Hamlin upright. A fellow in National City cut it down and restrung it for us.”
    Miss Tinkham got up and struck a chord.
    “There never was a tone like it,” she said. “I’m a better woman for knowing you, Oscar. I take my solemn oath to practice every day.”
    “You play swell. Miss Tinkham. I’d be satisfied to do one tenth as good.”
    “Once, Oscar, I did.”
    “Start right now!” Red brought up a chair and sat down close by. “What about ‘Shine On, Harvest Moon’?”
    “Before the saints come marching in,” Velma said, “here’s a donation that I hope you’ll all get the good of.” She handed Mrs. Feeley a slip of paper. Mrs. Feeley squinted at it and handed it to Miss Tinkham.
    “It’s a gift certificate,” she said. “One hundred and fifty dollars in merchandise at the Point Loma Gardens!”
    “Velma,” Mrs. Feeley said finally, “I’m dumbfoundered. You don’t hardly know us from Adam’s old fox!”
    “My pleasures are few,” Velma said. “Don’t deny me this one.”
    “Gawd! That’s the last thing I’d do! Remember them big bushes we seen on the way home from keepin’ Timmy’s saloon for him? Rosydandrums. That’s what they was. I been pinin’ for two o’ them ever since I seen ’em that time. We’ll have ’em now!”
    “Will they grow in California?” Miss Tinkham said. “The climate of New Jersey…”
    “They’ll grow.” Mrs. Feeley’s tone left no doubt as