THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



539 



goes like this : "Please 

 take me across the 

 sea, where the old Al- 

 lymongs can't get me ; 

 'Cause, my, my, my! 

 I don't wanna die, but 

 I wanna go ho-ome." 

 It is repeated over and 

 over and over, and 

 long afterwards, when 

 I am again alone, it 

 rings in my head and 

 my heart. 



Arrived at Ver- 

 sailles, I scurry back 

 and forth on the plat- 

 form to see that no 

 one is left behind. 

 For once a lad fell 

 asleep and had to be 

 prodded out at the last 

 moment. He admitted 

 frankly that he'd had 

 two bottles of whisky 

 and a hard night. He 

 asked me stupidly, 

 "W hat's 'Vursales' 

 anyway ?" Later in the 

 afternoon he prom- 

 ised to take a Turkish 

 bath, or, as he told it, 

 "a bunch of 'em." 



In spite of my dras- 

 tic warning, there is 

 often a scared-looking 

 soldier who tells me 

 shamefacedly that he 

 has lost his ticket. I, 

 in turn, tell this to the 

 man at the gate. He 

 smiles indulgently and 

 assures me that "all American soldiers 

 can pass through," which doesn't make a 

 hit at all, especially with the Australians, 

 who on account of their soft hats are 

 often taken for "Sammies." More than 

 once have I heard a "Go to the devil" in 

 response to "Bon jour, cher Americain." 

 When the strap which holds the hat to 

 the head is worn before the ears, the 

 wearer is from far-off Kangaroo Land ; 

 but when it's worn behind the ears, he's 

 a Yank. And you mustn't mix 'em up, 

 either. 



For the short walk to the castle we do 



C. H. Graves 

 BSD-CHAMBER OF LOUIS XIV AT VERSAILLES, FRANCE 



"It's a funny, flat bed, and one chap said with a grin, 'If Looey had 

 one drink he couldn't get onto it, and if he took two he couldn't stay 

 on.' " 



not go two or four abreast, but all to- 

 gether ; for I find that a man on leave 

 tries to forget everything military. What 

 he wants to do least of all is to walk. He 

 hates it almost as much as he hates the 

 rain, and he hates the rain like poison. 

 At the front he must get wet and muddy. 

 In town he loves to be dry and clean. In 

 spite of his loathing for foot exercise, I 

 know, however, that the average soldier 

 is willing to walk miles on the trail of 

 some interesting scrap of history or even 

 a charming bit of scenery. 



