of the most modernly managed mess halls in camp or because his working
parties are always well attended that "Pop" received his appointment,
but whatever it was it does my heart good to see a real seagoing old
salt, one of our few remaining ex-apprentice boys, receive recognition
that is so well merited. However, I was on much more intimate terms
with Eli when I was over in Probation Camp than I was with "Pop." He
almost had me in his clutches once for late hammocks, me and eight
other poor victims I had led into the trouble, and he had our
wheelbarrows all picked out for us, and a nice large pile of sand for
us to play with when fate interceded in our behalf. The poor man
nearly cried out of sheer anguish of soul, and I can't justly blame
him. It's hard lines to have a nice fat extra duty party go dead on
your hands.

But with Eli it was different. When I was a homeless rookie he took me
in and I fed him--cigarette butts--and I'll honestly say that he
showed more genuine appreciation than many a flapper I have plied with
costly viands. He was a good goat, Eli. Not a refined goat, to be
sure, but a good, honest, whole-souled goat just the same. He did his
share in policing the grounds, never shirked a cigar end or a bit of
paper and amused many a mess gear line. He was loyal to his friends,
tolerant with new recruits and a credit to the service in general.
Considering the environment in which he lived, I think he deported
himself with much dignity and moderation. I for one shall miss Eli.
Some of the happier memories of my rookie days die with him. He is
survived by numerous dogs.


_April 25th._ Yesterday I wandered around Probation Camp in a very
patronizing manner and finally stopped to shed a tear on the humble