“So, while Reilly was explainin’ to his six doughboys and Rathbone was bringin’ Napoleon One up to date, me and the widow and the marine goes over to superintend the two birds diggin’ the grave.  They was two funny-lookin’ old birds, too—­I’ll say they was.  They was about a hundred years old apiece and had long white whiskers like St. Peter, and, say, they talked a whole lot more than they dug.  I guess they musta been workin’ on that grave for a coupla weeks—­you know, ten minutes parlez-vous and then one shovela dirt.  Me and the marine had to grab their shovels and finish the job or there wouldn’t ‘a’ been no funeral that day.

“When we get back the six doughboys is all ready to give first aid to the coffin, and Rathbone is talkin’ to Napoleon One like they was brothers.  So I go up to them and I sez to Rathbone: 

“‘Looka here, Rathbone.  I’m the priest at this party.  See?’

“‘What’s that?’ sez Rathbone.  ‘Come again.’

“’I say I’m the priest.  This dead poiloo ain’t gotta priest nor nothin’ and there’s his poor mother and her a widow.  So I’m that missin’ priest, and I’m not too proud to perform free and gratis.  Get that?’

“‘Hold on, chief,’ sez Rathbone.  ‘You ain’t got nothin’ to wear.’

“‘Nothin’ to wear!’ I sez.  ‘You poor cheese, I’m a navy chaplain.’

“‘You look more like a Charlie Chaplin,’ sez Rathbone.

“I guess that bird wasn’t sober yet, after all, because he thought he was funny.

“‘Can the comedy,’ I sez, ’and you go tell the widow that Father Dempsey, the head chaplain of the U.S.  Navy, has consented to perform this afternoon.  Now, get it straight, and for Gawd’s sake don’t go and laugh or I’ll put you in the brig.’

“Well, Rathbone looks at me like I was goin’ to my death.

“‘Good-by, chief,’ he sez.  ‘Wait till the admiral hears of this.’

“‘Haw,’ I sez—­’if he does I’ll get decorated.’

“Well, I give Reilly the high sign and out comes the coffin on the doughboys’ shoulders.  Napoleon One leads the way, and Rathbone and the widow step in after the coffin, and I see that they is talkin’ together beaucoup earnestly.

“When we get to the grave the doughboys set down the coffin beside it and all forms in a circle with me and the widow facin’ each other.  And then there’s an anxious silence.  I’ll say right here that I was the most anxious, and I was sweatin’ more than I guess any chaplain oughta sweat.  But, by luck, I happen to think that I have my old logarithm-book in my pocket—­you know, the one that’s bound in black patent-leather.  Looks sorta as if it might be a prayer-book or somethin’ like that.  Anyway, the widow, bein’ a frawg widow, I figgered how she’d think maybe it was a Yank Bible issued special to the A.E.F. and condensed like malted milk or somethin’.