THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



309 



Grand chorus, "Ladies present." 

 A jolly, fat little soldier bounces into 

 the room, throws his cap on the floor, 

 and beams all around, as he fairly ex- 

 plodes : "Oh, what a beautiful Thursday !" 



THE STORY OF A BATH 



In answer to my unspoken question he 

 explains that every day in the trenches 

 is "like Sunday on the farm," whereas 

 here — why, one actually remembers the 

 day of the week. He knows that this is 

 Thursday, for he got in on Saturday 

 night, and getting in on Saturday was the 

 luckiest thing that ever happened to him, 

 because that's one of the two days when 

 there's hot water in Paris. 



"So," he says, "I turned it on and I 

 stuck my head in the steam, and I filled 

 the tub so full that when I dived into it 

 I splashed all over the place. I hopped 

 out and wiped it up as best I could — any- 

 way, I had another towel. Then I slid 

 back with a happy sigh into that bea-u- 

 ti-ful boiling bath, and I soaked — just 

 soaked. 



"Some one knocked at the door, and it 

 was the maid ; but I said, 'Not at home. 

 Won't be at home for quite some time/ 



"You see, I can 'parler' a little ; so I 

 'got her' when she said she'd come to 

 prepare my bath. 



"I said, 'What? I guess I don't need 

 no lady to prepare no bath for me.' She 

 seemed kinda surprised, and I heard her 

 mumbling to herself, and I wondered 

 what she was doing in my room so long. 



"By and by, though, after 'bout an 

 hour, I had a dandy rub-down with a 

 towel that smelled clean, for I don't mind 

 telling you that I'm in a real, regular 

 hotel, with elevators and everything. 

 Then I went into the other room and I 

 seen what Maddymoizelle had been up 

 to. I laughed out loud, 'cause she'd drawn 

 the curtains tight — against Zeps, you 

 know. She'd turned down the covers of 

 the bed, all pink, and she'd lighted a little 

 lamp, which was pink too. 



"I says to myself : 'Curley, this is y-o-u, 

 which spells you' And I never was so 

 happy since I got my first pay envelope. 

 I wiggled into that bed slow and care- 

 ful, so's not to disturb things too much, 

 and of course I hadn't nothin' on. Catch 



me missin' the feel of them sheets. And 

 I've got five more nights." 



WHEN HE TICKED THE SPOOX 



I hand the jam to a fellow who wants 

 to know if I've ever seen the Bairnsfather 

 cartoon where poor Tommy, opening an- 

 other tin of apple jelly, is saying long- 

 ingly, "When' 11 it be strawberry?" 



I nod, but tell him not to be afraid of 

 this brand, because it was made by one 

 of the ladies. So he decides to "take a 

 chance." I notice that his "chance" is 

 a liberal one. As he scrapes the bowl 

 he volunteers the information that his 

 mother always used to let him lick the 

 spoon. At which everybody present yells, 

 "Kamarad," including me. 



I go to the kitchen for a fresh supply, 

 and when I get back there is a great dis- 

 cussion about last night's air raid. A 

 thin, nervous, jumpy little man is saying 

 that he reached his room at 8 o'clock, 

 straight from "Hell Fire Corner," and, 

 dead weary, had fallen into bed ; but the 

 strange feeling of a mattress under him 

 and four walls around him had chased 

 away all thought of sleep; so he turned 

 and twisted from 9 o'clock until the first 

 bomb fell, at 11.25. 



"Then," he concludes, "it was just like 

 'Home, Sweet Home' in my pill-box, and 

 I woke up this morning at 8." 



The two latest arrivals are old friends 

 of mine. I've known them for a week 

 and two days. Today, I'm not so glad to 

 see them, for it's their night to "dee- 

 partee," and I hate to say goodby; but 

 they are not too sad, as they put it, and 

 the blue-eyed one immediately begins a 

 description of an afternoon spent in the 

 "Looksumburg," and finishes up with, 

 "Gawd knows I've seen enough of art." 



ONLY TWO SPEEDS TO FRENCH TRAINS : 

 SEOW AND EUEE STOP 



The brown-eyed one declares, "It'll be 

 good to get back to the 'mokes' 

 -(horses) — anyway. The worst thing 

 about the whole business is the railroad 

 ride back, because in France there are 

 only two speeds for a train, to wit : slow 

 and full stop." 



We chatter on about many things until 

 the time comes for me to wish them the 



