Then with surprising
presence of mind, I sprang to a ladder that led to the water tank,
swarmed up it with the agility of a cat and lowered myself with a gasp
of despair into the cold, cold water of the tank. From this place of
security I gazed down on the man who had been responsible for my
unfortunate plight. I felt myself sinned against, and the longer I
remained in that water, up to my neck, the more I felt my wrongs. I
gave voice to them. I said bitter, abusive things to the man.
"Clear the quarter deck," I shouted, "get aft, or, by gad, I'll come
fluttering down there on your flat, bald head like a blooming flood.
Vamoos, hombre, pronto--plenty quick and take your brood with you."
Then I said some more things as my father before me had said them, and
the man withdrew with his women.
"He's a sailor," he said as he did so. "Hurry, my dears, this is worse
than nakedness."
I emerged and sat in a borrowed bathrobe the rest of the evening. The
next morning my clothes were still damp. Now, that's what I call a
stupid way to spend a Saturday night on liberty. The fat people
enjoyed it.
_June 29th._ I met a very pleasant dog yesterday, whom I called Mr.
Fogerty because of his sober countenance and the benign but rather
puzzled expression in his large, limpid eyes, which were almost
completely hidden by his bangs.
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