We finally reached the door that led up to the Captain’s rooms and I looked around for a cab, found one and bundled Ben into it. Then I returned to the doorway to see if Clark was all right. He pulled me into the shadows and asked, “Has he passed out? Is it too late?” “Are you drunk or sober?” I demanded, wondering if I had misjudged him. “Sober as a judge,” he replied. “But he doesn’t know it. How about that marriage ceremony?” I held out my watch for him to see the time, as I said, discouragedly, “I guess Fate’s against us!... We’ll have to put it off, that’s all.” “That damn big boozer!” he grumbled. “I’d like to smash his head for him!” “Oh—he’s blissfully ignorant of our intentions,” I said. “Damn him just the same!” And he swept me into his arms and held me there, crushed against him, while he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me.... Oh, but I wished then that we were married! We heard Ben stirring so I had to run—and that was the nearest I came to being married that night, and the best farewell we could manage. I took Ben home and set him on his bunk. I sat down beside him, undecided whether to undress him or let him sleep with his clothes on; but while I was deciding, he began to undress himself, starting at the bottom. My legs hung down beside his, and every time he made a lunge to capture one of his own, he caught one of mine instead. But that didn’t make any difference. The first one he got a good grip on was one of mine, and he unrolled the puttee, unlaced the shoe, blissfully ignorant of the fact that it wasn’t his own foot at all. Then he dropped it to the floor to rest from the exertion. A moment later he continued his work, intending to remove the shoe this time, but when he reached for it, he missed and brought up one of his own instead. He proceeded calmly to undress that one, but he lost it before he could pull the shoe off and had to go hunting for it again. But again he got the wrong one: this time the one of mine which was already prepared. He pulled the shoe off and dropped the leg down in its place, heaving a big sigh of satisfaction as he did so. One more to go! He reached down to get it, caught the other one of mine and removed the leggings and untied the string, but again he lost it before he could pull off the shoe. When he tried to get it again, he got his own other one instead. He pulled and pulled and grunted and grunted, but in vain, because, of course, the shoe wasn’t even untied yet. He swore then, and dropped the foot to the floor. Then he leaned over and looked down upon the four feet that were dangling there. “Benny,” he mumbled with a chuckle, “ya’re drunker’n a cow’s tail in flytime!” He reached once more for the foot that appeared to have an untied shoe on it, but he couldn’t pull it off, so gave up, unwrapped the legging, unlaced the shoe, but lost the foot before he could complete the job.