He knows me by sight
When I'm sober or tight
And calls me a "wicked old rummy."

A sort of sweetheart-in-every-port type I intend to make him--a
seafaring man of the old school such as I suppose some of the
six-stripers around here were. I don't imagine it was very difficult
to get a good conduct record in the old days, because from all the
tales I've heard from this source and that, a sailor-man who did not
too openly boast of being a bigamist and who limited his homicidical
inclinations to half a dozen foreigners when on shore leave, was
considered a highly respectable character. Perhaps this is not at all
true and I for one can hardly believe it when I look at the virtuous
and impeccable exteriors of the few remaining representatives with
whom I have come in contact. However, any one has my permission to ask
them if it is true or not, should they care to find out for
themselves. I refuse to be held responsible though. I think I shall
send this poem to the paper soon.

It must be wonderful to get your poems in print. All my friends would
be so proud to know me. I wonder if the editors are well disposed,
God-fearing men.

[Illustration: "LIBERTY PARTY"]

From all I hear they must be a hard lot. Probably they'll be nice to
me because of my connections. I know so many bartenders. Next week I
rate liberty! Ah, little book, I wonder what these pages will contain
when I come back. I hate to think. New York, you know, is such an
interesting place.

_March 25th._ Man! Man! How I suffer! I'm so weary I could sleep on my
company commander's breast, and to bring oneself to that one must be
considerably fatigued, so to speak. Who invented liberty, anyway? It's
a greatly over-rated pastime as far as I can make out, consisting of
coming and going with the middle part omitted.

One man whispered to me at muster this morning that all he could
remember of his liberty was checking out and checking in. He looked
unwell. My old pal, "Spike" Kelly, I hear was also out of luck. His
girl was the skipper of a Fourteenth Street crosstown car, so he was
forced to spend most of his time riding, between the two rivers. He
nickeled himself to death in doing it. He said if Mr. Shonts plays
golf, as no doubt he does, he has "Spike" Kelly to thank for a nice,
new box of golf balls. And while on the subject, "Spike" observes that
one of those engaging car signs should read:

"Is it Gallantry, or the Advent of Woman Suffrage,