Fogerty merely threw himself into high, and together we sped
in the direction of the music. It was too late. Thousands of men were
swinging past in review, and in all that mass of humanity there was
one small vacant place that I was supposed to fill. I crouched down
behind a tree and observed the scene through stricken eyes. How could
I possibly have managed to lose nearly ten thousand men? It seemed
incredible, and I realized then that I alone could have accomplished
such a feat. And I had been so nice and clean, too, and I had worked
so hard to be all of those things. I bowed my head in misery, and Mr.
Fogerty, God bless his dissolute soul, crept up to me and tried to
tell me it was all right, and didn't matter much anyway. I looked
down, and discovered that my snow white hat was all muddy. Fogerty sat
on it.
_July 8th._ As a result of my being scratched out of the Independence
day review I have been tried out as punishment in all sorts of
disagreeable positions, all of which I have filled with an
inefficiency only equaled by the bad temper of my over-lords. Some of
these tasks, one in particular was of such a ridiculous nature that I
refuse to enter it into my diary for an unfeeling posterity to jeer
at.
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