I for one shall miss Eli.
Some of the happier memories of my rookie days die with him. He is
survived by numerous dogs.
_April 25th._ Yesterday I wandered around Probation Camp in a very
patronizing manner and finally stopped to shed a tear on the humble
grave of Eli.
"Poor sinful goat," I thought sadly, "here you lie at last in your
final resting place, but your phantom, I wonder, does it go coursing
madly down the Milky Way, butting the stars aside with its
battle-scarred head and sending swift gleams of light through the
heavens as its hoofs strike against an upturned planet? Your horns,
are they tipped with fire and your beard gloriously aflame, or has the
great evil spirit of Wayward Goats descended upon you and borne you
away to a place where there is never anything to butt save
unsatisfactorily yielding walls of padded cotton? Many changes have
taken place, Eli, since you were with us, much adversity has befallen
me, but the world in the large is very much the same. Bill and Mike
have been shipped to sea and strange enough to say, old Spike Kelly
has made the Quartermasters School. I alone of all the gang remain
unspoken for--nobody seems anxious to avail themselves of my services.
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