"You see," I added engagingly, "I began with trying to shovel her up
hill, but the old stuff kept on rolling down on me, so I drew the
natural conclusion that I'd better shovel her down hill. It seemed
more reasonable and--"
"Easier," suggested the P.O.
"Yes," I agreed.
There was a faraway expression in his eyes when he next spoke. "I'd
recommend you for an ineptitude discharge," he said, "if it wasn't for
the fact that I have more consideration for the civilian population.
I'd gladly put you in the brig for life if I could feel sure you
wouldn't injure it in some way. The only thing left for me to do is to
make you promise that you'll keep away from our coal pile and swear
never to lay violent hands on it again. You'll spoil it."
I gazed up at the monumental mass of coal rearing itself like a
dark-town Matterhorn above my head and swore fervently never to molest
it again.
"Go back to your outfit and get washed and tell your P.O. for me that
you can't come here no more, and," he added, as I was about to depart,
"take that unusual looking bit of animal life with you--it's all
wrong. Police his body or he'll ruin some of your pals' white pants
and they wouldn't like that at all."