This was just a little out of the line of duty for the jimmy legs, and
I can't say as I blame him for his conduct under rather trying
circumstances. Mr. Fogerty has a large, shaggy head, not unlike a
lion's, and his mouth, too, is quite large and contains some very long
and sharp teeth. It seems that Mr. Fogerty, still heavy with slumber,
quite naturally yawned into the horrified face of the Jimmy-legs, who,
mistaking the operation for a hostile demonstration, retreated from
the barracks with admirable rapidity for one so large, crying in a
distracted voice as he did so:
"By the saints, it's a beast he's turned into during the night. Sure,
it's a visitation of Providence, heaven preserve us."
It seems I have been washing hammocks ever since. Mr. Fogerty sits
around and wonders what it's all about. I like Fogerty, but he gets me
in trouble, and in this I need no help whatsoever.
[Illustration: "I RESUMED MY SLUMBER, BUT NOT WITH MUCH COMFORT"]
_July 1st._ This day I almost succeeded in sinking myself for the
final count. The fishes around about the environs of City Island were
disappointed beyond words when I came up for the fourth time and
stayed up. In my delirium I imagined that school had been let out in
honor of my reception and that all the pretty little fishes were
sticking around in expectant groups cheering loudly at the thought of
the conclusion of their meatless days.
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