So I didn’t attempt any evasion about Esky, knowing at once what to expect from this snippy little shave-tail. He fulfilled my expectations at once. “Get rid of him, and immediately. You know as well as I, Canwick, that no pets or mascots are to be taken aboard. This is no old ladies’ home.” And he strode pompously down the line. After he had disappeared and we settled down for another quarter hour wait, a big homely man across the aisle spoke up in a voice that carried to all corners of the shed. “Dat’s why dat bird don’t belong here—dis ain’t no old ladies’ home.” “You mean the dog?” I asked stupidly, fascinated by his booming voice and his ugliness. The big fellow grinned toothily. “Naw—dat Chilblaines, the God damn little sawed-off piece of punk.” Whew! What an earful! But I managed to laugh at his description of the shrimp louie, and in a moment the big fellow and I became fast friends, for he promptly offered his assistance in the matter of Esky’s disposal. I gathered from his conversation that he not only liked dogs but that he loathed the sight of this snoopy “Chilblaines” as he called him, and that he would like nothing better than to slip one over on the aforesaid Chilblaines. “We’ll trim de little squirt!” he declared. “Say, buddy, ain’t you workin’ fer de Gen?” “General Backett,” I replied. “Sure thing! Just the racket!” he exclaimed. “Nothin’ to it atall!” And he proceeded to enlarge upon his brilliant idea. “I been waitin’ fer a chance to get dat guy alone somewhere, and when I do, I’m gonna put his knees in his face so fast they’ll have to blast to get ’em out!” “Well—I wish you luck,” I told him, although I didn’t want to encourage him too much because I figured this Chilblaines was just the sort of a fellow who’d go out of his way to make life miserable for anyone he suspected of being antagonistic to him. However, I hadn’t the least idea as to what could be done with Esky and I did hate to leave him for someone to ship home. The big fellow, I later learned, knew some things that I didn’t, one thing in particular: namely that, as clerical dog-robber to General Backett, I could get away with a great many little sins of commission and omission that no common soldier could dare contemplate with impunity. This fellow had been in the army long enough to know the necessity of humility on his part, and he therefore got that much more pleasure from the idea of my slipping one over on his pet superior. Indeed, he was all wrapped up in the idea of getting Esky through the gangplank inspection and on board our transport. “All we gotta do,” he repeated, “is get that pup into somethin’ ’at looks official. The top-kicker’ll probably be the only man ’at can suspect anything funny and he’s too damned scared of his job to say anythin’ if you tell ’im it’s somethin’ of the Gen’s.” “But what if someone should insist on investigating?” I objected, hopeful but still in doubt as to the feasibility of the scheme.