ter on my sleeve, and I guess decides that I'm
eligible to the club. Anyway, she sorta nodded at me and pretty soon
begun to snuffle and look for her handkerchief. It wasn't no use,
though, for she didn't have any.

"Meanwhile we was crossin' one of them bridges--just crawlin' along
like one of the motors had quit and the other was hittin' only on
three. If we'd been in the air we'd stalled sure and gone into a
tail-spin. All the time I was thinkin' how to say 'Cheer up' to the
old dame in French, but all I could think of at first was 'Bravo'
and '_Vous-ate tray jolee_!' Still it was sorta stupid walkin' along
and no conversation, so I guess I musta had an inspiration or
something, and I sez, pointing ahead at the coffin, '_Mort avec mon
Dieu_.' The old lady lost her step at that, because I suppose she
was surprised by a Yank speakin' good French, most of 'em relyin',
like Matthews here, on the sign language, although I'll say that
Matthews gets plenty far enough with that. Why, they're four girls
and a widow at home that if they knew how far Matthews was gettin'
with the sign language they'd be gray-headed to-day.... Aw, well,
Matthews, quit spoilin' this drawin'. Do you wanta get me and
Admiral Sims into trouble with the department?"

"Go ahead with your funeral, Steve," said Lieutenant Erskine--"unless
your power of invention has failed you."

Dempsey looked up with a hurt and innocent expression on his face.

"Oh, lootenant," he exclaimed, "what I'm tellin' is gospel. It's as
true--it's as true as the communikays."

"All right," said Erskine, "issue another, then."

"Well," Steve continued, "where was I? Oh yes, we was on the bridge
and I'd just told the old lady that the dead soldier was in heaven
by now."

"Soldier?" repeated Erskine. "What made you believe he was a soldier?"

"Why, ain't every frawg a soldier now, sir."

"How did you know, even, that it was a male frog?"

"I'm comin' to that, sir," replied Steve. "That comes next. You see,
once the old lady knew I could _parlez-vous_ with the best of 'em,
she continued the conversation and sez, '_Mon pover fees_.' Get that?
'_Mon pover fees_.' Well, that means, translated, 'My poor son.'"

At this revelation of startling linguistic ability Steve paused to
receive felicitations. When they were forthcoming he proceeded.

"So, of course, I know then that the corpse is a dead soldier, and I
decides to see him through until he's made a safe landing somew