Fortunately for the Navy,
however, I cheated them and saved myself in order to scrub many more
hammocks and white clothes, an object to which I seem to have
dedicated my life.
It all come about, as do most drowning parties, in quite an unexpected
manner. For some reason it had been arranged that I should take a swim
over at one of the emporiums at City Island, and, as I interposed no
objections, I accordingly departed with my faithful Mr. Fogerty
tumbling along at my heels. Since Mr. Fogerty involved me in trouble
the other day by barking at the Jimmy-legs he has endeavored in all
possible ways to make up for his thoughtless irregularity. For
instance, he met me this morning with an almost brand new shoe which
in some manner he had managed to pick up in his wanderings. It fits
perfectly, and if he only succeeds in finding the mate to it I shall
probably not look for the owner. As a further proof of his good will
Mr. Fogerty bit, or attempted to bite, a P.O. who spoke to me
roughly regarding the picturesque way I was holding my gun.
"Whose dog is that?" demanded the P.O.
Silence in the ranks. Mr. Fogerty looked defiantly at him for a moment
and then trotted deliberately over and sat down upon my foot.
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