t, bald head like a blooming flood.
Vamoos, hombre, pronto--plenty quick and take your brood with you."
Then I said some more things as my father before me had said them, and
the man withdrew with his women.

"He's a sailor," he said as he did so. "Hurry, my dears, this is worse
than nakedness."

I emerged and sat in a borrowed bathrobe the rest of the evening. The
next morning my clothes were still damp. Now, that's what I call a
stupid way to spend a Saturday night on liberty. The fat people
enjoyed it.

_June 29th._ I met a very pleasant dog yesterday, whom I called Mr.
Fogerty because of his sober countenance and the benign but rather
puzzled expression in his large, limpid eyes, which were almost
completely hidden by his bangs. He was evidently a visitor in camp, so
I took him around and introduced him to the rest of the dogs and
several of the better sort of goats. In all of these he displayed a
friendly but dignified interest, seeming to question them on the life
of the camp, how they liked the Navy and what they thought were the
prospects for an early peace. He refused to be separated from me,
however, and even broke into the mess hall, from which he was
unceremoniously ejected, but not before he had gotten half of my
ration. In some strange manner he must have found out from one of the
other dogs my name and address and exactly where I swung, for in the
middle of the night I awoke to hear a lonesome whining in the darkness
beneath my hammock and then the sniff, sniff of an investigating nose.
As I know how it feels to be lonely in a big black barracks in the
dead of night I carefully descended to the deck and collected this
animal--it was my old friend, Mr. Fogerty, and he was quite overjoyed
at having once more found me. After licking my face in gratitude he
sat back on his haunches and waited for me to do something amusing. I
didn't have the heart to leave him there in the darkness. Dogs have a
certain way about them that gets me every time. I lifted Mr. Fogerty,
a huge hulk of a dog, with much care, and adjusting of overlapping
paws into my hammock, and received a kiss in the eye for my trouble.
Then I followed Mr. Fogerty into the hammock and resumed my slumber,
but not with much comfort. Mr. Fogerty is a large, sprawly dog, who
evidently has been used to sleeping in vast spaces and who sees no
reason for changing a lifelong habit. Consequently he considered me in
the nature of a piece of gratifying u