s he walked slowly away.

_August 5th._ In order to distract Mr. Fogerty's attention from his
love affair and in a sort of desperate endeavor to win him back to me
I took him away on my last liberty with me. Fogerty doesn't come under
the heading of a lap dog, but through some technical quibble I managed
to smuggle him into the subway. All he did there was to knock over one
elderly lady and lick her face effusively when he had gotten her down.
This resulted in a small but complete panic. For the most part,
however, he sat quietly on my lap and sniffed at those around him. At
last we reached Washington Square, whereupon I proceeded to take Mr.
Fogerty around and show him off to my friends. He was well received,
but his heart wasn't with us. It was far away in City Island.

[Illustration: "FOR THE MOST PART, HOWEVER, HE SAT QUIETLY ON MY LAP
AND SNIFFED"]

At one restaurant we ran into a female whose hair was nearly as short
as Fogerty's. She was holding forth on the Silence of the Soul vs. the
Love Impulse, the cabbage or some other plant. Fogerty listened to her
for a while and then bit her. He did it quietly, but I thought it best
to take him away.

After supper we went up to another place for coffee, a fine little
place for sailormen, situated on the south side of the square. Here
we were received with winning cordiality and Fogerty was given a fried
egg, a dish of which he is passionately fond. But even here he got
into trouble by putting one of his great feet through a Ukulele, which
isn't such a terrible thing to do, except in certain places.

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 pe