HING IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF
10,000 MEN"]

"Fogerty," I gasped, "this is a trick I have to pull off alone. You're
not in on this review, and for God's sake act reasonable."

I couldn't bear the thought of chasing across the parade ground with
that simple-looking dog bounding along at my heels. My remark had no
effect. Fogerty merely threw himself into high, and together we sped
in the direction of the music. It was too late. Thousands of men were
swinging past in review, and in all that mass of humanity there was
one small vacant place that I was supposed to fill. I crouched down
behind a tree and observed the scene through stricken eyes. How could
I possibly have managed to lose nearly ten thousand men? It seemed
incredible, and I realized then that I alone could have accomplished
such a feat. And I had been so nice and clean, too, and I had worked
so hard to be all of those things. I bowed my head in misery, and Mr.
Fogerty, God bless his dissolute soul, crept up to me and tried to
tell me it was all right, and didn't matter much anyway. I looked
down, and discovered that my snow white hat was all muddy. Fogerty sat
on it.

_July 8th._ As a result of my being scratched out of the Independence
day review I have been tried out as punishment in all sorts of
disagreeable positions, all of which I have filled with an
inefficiency only equaled by the bad temper of my over-lords. Some of
these tasks, one in particular was of such a ridiculous nature that I
refuse to enter it into my diary for an unfeeling posterity to jeer
at. I am willing to state, however, that the accomplishments of
Hercules, that redoubtable handy man of mythology, were trifling in
comparison with mine.

To begin with, the coal pile is altogether too large and my back is
altogether too refined. There should be individual coal piles provided
for temperamental sailors. Small, colorful, appetizingly shaped mounds
of nice, clean, glistening chunks of coal they should be, and the coal
itself could easily be made much lighter, approaching if possible the
weight of feathers. This would be a task any reasonably inclined
sailor would attack with relish, particularly if his efforts were
attended by the strains of some good, snappy jazz. However, reality
wears a graver face and a sootier one. Long did I labor and valiantly
but to little effect. More coal fell off of my shovel than remained on
it. This was due to the unfortunate fact that coal dust seems to
a