■*"-—**>_-.,■«*" 





Photograph by Herbert Corey 

 A GRAVE AND COURTEOUS LITTLE GENTLEMAN 



Although his home had been burned behind him and the other members of his family had 



disappeared 



ers to get a breath of air and draw the 

 gloves from hands that have been 

 bleached and thinned by the flow of per- 

 spiration. Then the mosquito does his 

 perfect work. 



Today the road ends at Monastir. 

 True, a branch wanders north to Nish 

 and Uskub and Prilip, and another branch 

 crosses the hills to the Adriatic Sea. But 

 across these branches the Bulgarian line 

 is thrown. Monastir is a town of 40,000 

 people, pretty clean by eastern standards, 

 well built, with wide streets and a tink- 

 ling river running through its handsome 



boulevard. It was captured by the Allies 

 in November, 191 6, but the Bulgarians 

 held the hills from which it is command- 

 ed. They shelled it every day until the 

 middle of April, and they may be shelling 

 it now for aught I know. 



It was even a contemptuous sort of 

 shelling they gave it. Although they had 

 a sufficiency of big guns, and sometimes 

 dropped a 210 shell in the middle of a 

 promenade to prove it, most of the firing 

 on the town was from the field pieces of 

 yy caliber. They were so near at hand, 

 you see — ■ only four or five kilometers 



405 



