“Certainly, my little man,” Bobby said and served it. “Do you know what they ought to do? They ought to put your healthy charming face on the label of those gin bottles instead of that idiotic collection of berries. Hudson, why don’t you design a suitable label for a gin bottle that would reproduce the childish charm of young Andy’s face?”
“We could launch a brand,” Roger said. “They’ve got Old Tom gin. Why shouldn’t we put out Merry Andrew?”
“I’ll put up the money,” said Bobby. “We can make the gin here on the island. The little lads can bottle it and affix the labels. We can sell it wholesale and in detail.”
“It would be a return to craftsmanship,” Roger said. “Like William Morris.”
“What would we make the gin from, Mr. Bobby?” Andrew asked.
“From bonefish,” Bobby said. “And from conches.”
The yacht people did not look at Roger or Thomas Hudson nor at the boys now. They were watching Bobby and they looked worried.
“About that canvas,” the one man said.
“What canvas are you referring to, my good man?” Bobby asked him, downing another quick one.
“The very big canvas with the three waterspouts and the man in a dinghy.”
“Where?” asked Bobby.
“There,” said the man.
“Begging your pardon, sir, I think you’ve had enough. This is a respectable place. We don’t run to waterspouts and men in dinghys here.”
“I mean the picture there.”
“Don’t provoke me, sir. There’s no picture there. If there was a painting in here it would be above the bar where paintings belong and it would be a nude reclining full length in a proper shipshape manner.”
“I mean that picture there.”
“
“There.”
“I’d be happy to fix you a Bromo Seltzer, sir. Or call you a rickshaw,” Bobby said.
“A rickshaw?”
“Yes. A goddam rickshaw if you want it straight to your face. You’re a rickshaw. And you’ve had enough.”
“Mr. Bobby?” Andy asked very politely. “Do you think I’ve had enough?”
“No, my dear boy. Of course not. Serve yourself.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bobby,” Andy said. “This is four.”
“I wish it was a hundred,” Bobby said. “You’re the pride of my heart.”
“What do you say we get out of here, Hal,” one of the men said to the man who wanted to buy the picture.
“I’d like to pick up that canvas,” the other told him. “If I can get it for a decent price.”
“I’d like to get out of here,” the first man insisted. “Fun’s fun and all that. But watching children drink is a little too much.”
“Are you really serving that little boy gin?” the nice-looking blonde girl at the end of the bar toward the door asked Bobby. She was a tall girl with very fair hair and pleasant freckles. They were not redhead freckles but were the sort blondes get when they have skins that tan instead of burn.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I think it’s shameful,” the girl said. “It’s disgusting and it’s shameful and it’s criminal.”
Roger avoided looking at the girl and Thomas Hudson kept his eyes down.
“What would you like him to drink, ma’am?” Bobby asked.
“Nothing. He shouldn’t have anything to drink.”
“Hardly seems fair,” Bobby said.
“What do you mean
“See, papa?” young Tom said. “I thought it was wrong for Andy to drink.”
“He’s the only one of the three who drinks, ma’am. Since Sport here stopped it,” Bobby tried to reason with her. “Do you think it’s fair to deprive the only one in a family of three boys of what little pleasure he gets?”
There were tears in her eyes and she turned her back on the boys and Mr. Bobby and said to the men with her, “Won’t any of you
“I think it’s a joke,” one of the men said to her. “Like that rude waiter they hire at a party. Or like double talk.”
“No, it’s not a joke. That dreadful man gives him gin. It’s horrible and it’s tragic.”
“Mr. Bobby?” Tom asked. “Is five my limit?”
“For today,” Bobby said. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything to shock the lady.”
“Oh get me out of here,” the girl said. “I won’t watch it.”
She started to cry and two of the men went out with her and Thomas Hudson and Roger and the boys all felt quite bad.
The other girl, the really lovely-looking one, came over. She had a beautiful face and clear brown skin and tawny hair. She wore slacks but she was built wonderfully as far as Thomas Hudson could see and her hair was silky and it swung when she walked. He knew he had seen her before.
“It isn’t really gin, is it?” she said to Roger.
“No. Of course not.”
“I’ll go out and tell her,” she said. “She really feels awfully badly.”
She went out the door and she smiled at them as she went out. She was a wonderful-looking girl.
“Now it’s over, papa,” Andy said. “Can we have Cokes?”
“I’d like a beer, papa. If it wouldn’t make that lady feel bad,” young Tom said.