Ben didn’t mind, now that he had a surplus to work with. I told him I’d be upstairs if he wanted me, and he slid down into my place in the circle. I scurried up the ladder and ambled around within hearing distance of the Chaplain. He appeared to be very much annoyed at something and I guessed at once that the noise from below had penetrated to him. “It is beyond me, how such people can expect to attain any happiness in life! No self-respecting man would indulge in these wasteful pastimes. How could he, and expect to get anywhere?” Apparently he was talking about the game and the gamblers. Almost immediately came an answer to his question, wafted up through the ventilator whose mouth was just behind him. “BOX CAR, papa! BOX CAR!” was what the Chaplain and everyone near the ventilator heard. Someone smothered a laugh and there were many wide grins in the congregation, but the good man continued his exhortations, in such a loud tone that he almost succeeded in drowning out the cries of “Crap him! Crap him!” which followed in explanation of the strange statement previously rendered from the depths below. The sermon proceeded undisturbed for some minutes then, but a little later when the trend of his talk led into the subject of guarding one’s moral well-being in the face of such temptations as would likely be faced in France, the reverend gentleman was again rewarded by another, even louder and better antiphonal chant from below. This time he cried out ardently, “Who is there that can afford to risk the whole future happiness of his life for the sake of these momentary pleasures of the flesh?” I’m sure the voice that rumbled out the answer was Ben’s, for that “LITTLE JOE!” sounded as only my bunkmate could make it sound. Several laughs greeted this phenomenon and the Chaplain was showing signs of losing his temper, but he resolutely continued on the subject of lust and the wages of sin. “How would I feel,” he demanded, “if the woman I wanted to marry should come to me with a sinful, immoral past?” And Ben’s voice boomed out, as if it were timed for precisely that moment, “NATURAL, papa! NATURAL AGAIN, papa!” That proved to be the last straw. The Chaplain sent a man after the Officer of the Day and I hurried down to warn the gang. The game broke up pronto and Ben came with me into our bunk hole, where he counted out the total receipts and figured out our profit. “Fifty bucks apiece ain’t a bad day’s pay, Leony!” he declared, handing me my fifty. A few moments later the Officer of the Day appeared in our compartment and cast a curious eye around. No one knew anything about any crap game around there! Hadn’t seen a pair of dice for months! No, sir, not in here! The officer smiled knowingly and let it go at that. Some officers are like that—they have sense enough to know when to act like regular fellows.