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.

"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. 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."Oh, so he belongs to you!" continued the P.O. in a threatening voice."No, sir," I faltered; "you see, it isn't that way at all. I belong to
Mr. Fogerty.""Who in--who in--who is Mr. Fogerty?" shouted the P.O. "And how
in--how in--how did _he_ happen to get into the conversation?""Why, this is Mr. Fogerty," I replied; "this dog here, sitting on my
foot.""Oh, is that so?" jeered the P.O., a man noted for his quick retorts.
"Well, you take your silly looking dog away from here and secure him
in some safe place. He ain't no fit 

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