dream he had had of all the railroads in the country being blown up. All came down again except the West Shore, which was two hours late.
We dined with the Cadet Corps in the mess hall, listened to an organ recital by Frederick C. Mayer, for fifteen years organist in the lovely Gothic chapel that looks down on the Hudson; heard the cadet choir sing "The Corps" and "Alma Mater", an honor usually reserved for high ranking officers or officials of state; looked on at formal guard mount and evening parade, and were shown through the plant.
Then, to our surprise, we discovered that the show was not to be given by the army alone. A stage had been built over the home plate in the huge athletic stadium at the top of the hill, overlooking the chapel, and we were called upon to do our stuff. Like the village soprano, we had not brought our music, and were coy and fluttering. Tannen had been dragooned as master of ceremonies and he fixed a fishy eye upon me. Aware of the high morale and inflexible discipline of the Corps even under the most trying circumstances, I had no hesitancy in inflicting an extemporaneous monologue upon them. They never wavered, but came on yell-
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