“Aw hell, buddy!” he exclaimed impatiently. “Don’t you know there ain’t no river so wide it can’t be crossed somehow or other? It’s a million to one that we can walk right through without a hitch—why, there’s a whole g—— damned army got to get on that boat and they ain’t gonna lose no time over nobody.” His reasoning convinced himself but not me. “And what happens after we’re on board? What if the dog gets loose? What if we’re caught in an inspection on the ship?” I was convinced that it was too risky. “I’d rather arrange to have someone here ship him home to-morrow than take a chance on his being put out of the way in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.” “Fergit it! Fergit it! Act yer age, buddy!” His booming voice was certainly persuasive. He sounded as if the scheme were all worked out and carried to successful conclusion. “Why, after we once get on that old scow, we can’t get off, even if we want to. And nobody’s gonna say anything anyway as long as we keep outa that dirty rotten little stinker’s way.” At this point he demonstrated that he was chewing tobacco. When he spit, you expected the building to shake. It was really a fascinating sight: I never had seen anything quite like it: he gave his face a twist, aimed at a sawdust box about ten yards away, heaved a huge sigh and let fly in a long arch that usually ended in the sawdust box. The feat fascinated my sleepy mind so that I followed his argument in a sort of daze of admiration. “Why, buddy,” he continued, “there ain’t nothin’ to it atall! Not a worry! Not a wrinkle! If we get caught, your Gen’ll fix it up—and anyway, what can anyone do out in the middle of the ocean? If Chilblaines threatened to throw de pup overboard, you know damn well the Gen’d put a stop to that! So what’d they do? Huh? Turn round and come back to let de dog off?... Why, buddy [Spit. Spit.] it’s a set-up!” I was convinced, or rather I let him go ahead with his plans. He procured a barracks bag and cut a little hole in the bottom of it. Then we tried various ways of carrying Esky in it. The poor pup didn’t know what it was all about but I patted his head and told him it was all right, and the way he behaved proved to me that dogs have intelligence just like human beings. First we put the dog in head first; then we decided that he’d probably wriggle less if we put his head up so he could see and smell me and thus know he was all right. We tried this and I tried lifting it—it was no go. I couldn’t have lugged it any distance at all. “Let me have him,” ordered my co-conspirator. And he took the bag, put a piece of board in it, stuck Esky in so his nose came at the drawstring, and picked up the bundle to carry it under his arm instead of over his shoulder as is the customary way of carrying a barracks bag. “You see, buddy, you’ll be behind me and he can see ya and know it’s all right. See?”