but inside of an hour
everybody on the ship knew what had happened, and for the second time
in my life I was hailed as a bruiser.

To impress a thousand men in such a manner creates an egotism which is
very likely to be lasting. I had not accomplished very much in my
studies. I was nothing in particular among my religious brethren. My
general reputation up to this moment in the ship was that of a
simple-minded Irish lad, who was a religious fanatic, a sort of sky
pilot or "Holy Joe." I became flushed with the only victory worth
while in the army or navy, and the second experience lasted twice as
long as the first.

The next thing to be done, of course, by my friends and admirers, was
to pit me against the bruisers of other ships. Two of the officers
wanted to know my plans. This recognition heightened my vanity.
Prayer-meeting night came along, and I was ashamed to attend. A
committee was sent to help me out, and the following week the
prodigal returned. The proper thing to do on my return was to confess
my sin and ask the brethren to pray for me; but when I failed to do
this, I became a subject of deep concern and solicitude. I tried to
cultivate a sense of conviction, but succeeded indifferently. The
deference paid me by the men of the mess was not calculated to help me
out. I felt very keenly the suspicion of my brethren, but it was
compensated for by the fact that among the ordinary men I had now a
hearing on matters of religious interest. I was rather diffident in
approaching them on this subject, since, from the viewpoint of the
pietists, I had fallen from grace. At the end of a month, a loathing
of this cheap reputation began to manifest itself. The man I had
beaten became one of my closest friends. I wrote his letters home to
his mother. A few weeks later, he entrusted me with a more sacred
mission--the writing of his love letters also.

Creedan was a Lancashire man, as angular in speech as in body, and
lacking utterly a sense of humour. As we became acquainted, I began to
suggest some improvements, not only in his manner of writing, but in
the matter also. I could not understand how a man could make love with
that kind of nature. One day I suggested the idea of rewriting the
entire epistle. The effect of it was a huge joke to Creedan. He
laughed at the change--laughed loud and heartily. The letter, of
course, was plastered all over with Irish blarney. It was such a huge
success that Creedan used to come to