Getting back to the station was a crisp little affair. Fogerty and
myself rose at five and went forth to the shuttle. The subway was a
madhouse. We shuttled ourselves to death. At 5.30 we were at the Times
Square end of the shuttle, at 5.45 we were at Williams, at 6 o'clock
we had somehow managed to get ourselves on the east side end of the
shuttle, five minutes later we were back at Times Square, ten minutes
later we were over on the east side once more. At 6.15 I lost Fogerty.
At 6.25 I was back at Times Square. "Hello, buddy," said the guard,
"you back again? Here's your dog."
At 7 o'clock we were at Van Cortlandt Park, at 8 we were at
Ninety-sixth Street, 9 o'clock found us laboring up to the gate of the
camp, with a written list of excuses that looked like the schedule of
a flourishing railroad. It was accepted, much to our surprise.
_Aug. 7th._ I have a perfectly splendid idea. Of course, like the rest
of my ideas it won't work, but it is a perfectly splendid idea for all
that. I got it while traveling on the ferry boat from New York to
Staten Island--the longest sea voyage I have had since I joined the
Navy. On this trip, strangely thrilling to a sailor in my situation,
but which was suffered with bored indifference by the amphibious
commuters that infest this Island in those waters, I saw a number of
ships so gaudily and at the same time so carelessly painted that any
God-fearing skipper of the Spanish Main would positively have refused
to command.
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