shaker after silver shaker came to the table, filled (the waiter loudly announced each time, for the benefit of whom I cannot say) with "your iced tea, Mr. Mitchell!" That said, his use of hieroglyphic when he meant to say hieroglyph I now grudgingly acknowledge as a possible debt to rhyming.]
Well, old R, M. Trilipush made some money and his name, And found across the pond a place to build his worldly fame.
Harvard gave him fresh-faced youths to teach, and then he met a gal, And now the rest of us know all too well he's CCF's best pal!
So back to the Nile our Pusby goes with Margaret's heart in tow As well as Chedter's cash,
[music stops, Kendall shouts the words]
"And mine, too! And mine, too!" "And mine, too! And mine, too!"
[pointing to guests who, like him, had invested in Hand-of-Atum]
For he sure came to implore us, And for an hour or do did bore us, But now, by Isis, Ra, and Horus, 01'Pusby will reward us!
[I should discuss the word implore for, if it was not used simply to make the Mitchells' task of rhyming more manageable, it merits clarifi• cation. To say the least. I will come back to this point, as to just who was imploring whom.]
By Isis, Ra, and Horus, Ol'Pusby will reward us!
The crowd soon mastered this couplet and chanted it for some ex• hilarating minutes while, to my infinitely deeper pleasure, Margaret glowed and glittered under the full moon splashing through the ball• room's glass ceiling, the silver light licking her blue and sparkling eye• lids (a Cleopatran effect she and Inge had devised for the evening), and whether she had fallen asleep or was merely savouring the entertain• ment behind closed eyes, her beauty was then, as always, overwhelm• ing. I felt at that instant as if I had achieved everything I ever dreamt of. A paradox, to be sure, as I had not yet set off on this expedition. I cradled her delicate, pliant hand in mine, each of her long, slender fin• gers articulated into the graceful arch of riverside narcissi, and she was then, in her drowsy languor, as always, the personification of so many ancient drawings, lounging beauties carved in calcite and lime to line the halls of palaces, the long-fingered serving girls and goddesses painted on tomb walls to beckon, to arouse, to accompany the home• sick dead into the next world.
Having carried my exhausted beauty upstairs and kissed her off to slumber, pulling her bedclothes up to her carved ivory chin, I re- descended and danced with Inge and the Partners' wives, some of
whom found the close contact of a bona-fide Egyptian explorer rather too heady a draught for their natural Boston modesty, and more than once I felt the firm, caressing need to remind the ladies of the proper hand positions for certain popular dances.
After midnight, the party spilled out of Finneran's ballroom and across Arlington Street. (An image to cherish forever: my future father- in-law, self-described "gentle as a lamb," kicking with grunts of exertion and boyish joy the prone figure of a man who had, as the party crossed into the Public Garden, attempted to grab Finneran's pocket watch on the run. The regretful robber called out for help from the police. "Here we are, son, not to worry," immediately cried four members of the Boston constabulary whom Finneran had at the party to protect himself from any liquor-control inspection. And with a quiet "Thank you, offi• cers," Finneran retreated and allowed the bobbies to deliver their more
professional beating to the cutpurse, interrupting them just once, in order to withdraw from his whimpering assailant's pocket enough money to cover "the polishing of my blood-spattered boots, you hooligan.")
CCF had had tents and roasting spits brought out to the Public Garden; the visible aromas of roast suckling pig rose towards the slen• der blue-grey clouds, and guests circled the waitresses in their skimpy Egyptian servant-girl costumes, grabbing—depending on their
Well, old R, M. Trilipush made some money and his name, And found across the pond a place to build his worldly fame.
Harvard gave him fresh-faced youths to teach, and then he met a gal, And now the rest of us know all too well he's CCF's best pal!
So back to the Nile our Pusby goes with Margaret's heart in tow As well as Chedter's cash,
[music stops, Kendall shouts the words]
"And mine, too! And mine, too!" "And mine, too! And mine, too!"
[pointing to guests who, like him, had invested in Hand-of-Atum]
For he sure came to implore us, And for an hour or do did bore us, But now, by Isis, Ra, and Horus, 01'Pusby will reward us!
[I should discuss the word implore for, if it was not used simply to make the Mitchells' task of rhyming more manageable, it merits clarifi• cation. To say the least. I will come back to this point, as to just who was imploring whom.]
By Isis, Ra, and Horus, Ol'Pusby will reward us!
The crowd soon mastered this couplet and chanted it for some ex• hilarating minutes while, to my infinitely deeper pleasure, Margaret glowed and glittered under the full moon splashing through the ball• room's glass ceiling, the silver light licking her blue and sparkling eye• lids (a Cleopatran effect she and Inge had devised for the evening), and whether she had fallen asleep or was merely savouring the entertain• ment behind closed eyes, her beauty was then, as always, overwhelm• ing. I felt at that instant as if I had achieved everything I ever dreamt of. A paradox, to be sure, as I had not yet set off on this expedition. I cradled her delicate, pliant hand in mine, each of her long, slender fin• gers articulated into the graceful arch of riverside narcissi, and she was then, in her drowsy languor, as always, the personification of so many ancient drawings, lounging beauties carved in calcite and lime to line the halls of palaces, the long-fingered serving girls and goddesses painted on tomb walls to beckon, to arouse, to accompany the home• sick dead into the next world.
Having carried my exhausted beauty upstairs and kissed her off to slumber, pulling her bedclothes up to her carved ivory chin, I re- descended and danced with Inge and the Partners' wives, some of
whom found the close contact of a bona-fide Egyptian explorer rather too heady a draught for their natural Boston modesty, and more than once I felt the firm, caressing need to remind the ladies of the proper hand positions for certain popular dances.
After midnight, the party spilled out of Finneran's ballroom and across Arlington Street. (An image to cherish forever: my future father- in-law, self-described "gentle as a lamb," kicking with grunts of exertion and boyish joy the prone figure of a man who had, as the party crossed into the Public Garden, attempted to grab Finneran's pocket watch on the run. The regretful robber called out for help from the police. "Here we are, son, not to worry," immediately cried four members of the Boston constabulary whom Finneran had at the party to protect himself from any liquor-control inspection. And with a quiet "Thank you, offi• cers," Finneran retreated and allowed the bobbies to deliver their more
professional beating to the cutpurse, interrupting them just once, in order to withdraw from his whimpering assailant's pocket enough money to cover "the polishing of my blood-spattered boots, you hooligan.")
CCF had had tents and roasting spits brought out to the Public Garden; the visible aromas of roast suckling pig rose towards the slen• der blue-grey clouds, and guests circled the waitresses in their skimpy Egyptian servant-girl costumes, grabbing—depending on their
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