ly
sickened me.

_June 24th._ Last week I caught a liberty--a perfect Forty-three--and
went to spend it with some cliff dwelling friends of mine who, heaven
help their wretched lot! lived on the sixth and top floor of one of
those famous New York struggle-ups. Before shoving off there was some
slight misunderstanding between the inspecting officer and myself
relative to the exact color of my, broadly speaking, Whites.

"Fall out, there," he said to me. "You can't go out on liberty in
Blues."

"But these, sir," I responded huskily, "are not Blues; they're
Whites."

"Look like Blues to me," he said skeptically. "Fall out anyway. You're
too dirty."

For the first time in my life I said nothing at the right time. I just
looked at him. There was a dumb misery in my eyes, a mute, humble
appeal such as is practised with so much success by dogs. He couldn't
resist it. Probably he was thinking of the days when he, too, stood in
line waiting impatiently for the final formalities to be run through
before the world was his again.

"Turn around," he said brokenly. I did so.

"Fall in," he ordered, after having made a prolonged inspection of my
shrinking back. "I guess you'll do, but you are only getting through
on a technicality--there's one white spot under your collar."

Officers are people after all, although sometimes it's hard to realize
it. This one, in imagination, I anointed with oil and rare perfumes,
and costly gifts I laid at his feet, while in a glad voice I called
down the blessings of John Paul Jones upon his excellent head. Thus I
departed with my kind and never did the odor of gasoline smell sweeter
in my nose than did the fumes that were being emitted by the impatient
flivver that waited without the gate. And sweet, too, was the fetid
atmosphere of the subway after the clean, bracing air of Pelham,
sweet was the smell of garlic belonging to a mustache that sat beside
me, and sweet were the buttery fingers of a small child who kept
clawing at me while their owner demanded of the whole car if I was a
"weal mavy sailor boy?" I didn't look it, and I didn't feel it, but I
had forty-three hours of freedom ahead of me, so what did I care?

All went well with me until I essayed the six flight climb-up to the
cave of these cliff-dwelling people, when I found that the one-storied
existence I had been leading in the Pelham bungalows had completely
unfitted me for mountain climbing. As I toiled upward I wondered d