han a bar on my shoulder any time.

Yours loving dough-boy,

BARNEY.

P.S.--I don't know why they call us dough boys, for thirty per aint
much "dough," is it angel face?

[Illustration: "How wuz I to know you wuz agin the push button of his
bell."]

Same Camp.

(Not on the map.)

Dere Julie,

Many thanks, my cherrie (that's French), fur the lovely cake you sent
me, but believe you me deary, I didn't get a smell of it. I got the
box about 6 p.m. opened it at 6;01, and at 6;011/2 our band played the
Star Spangled Banner and all us fellows had to stand at attention;
by the time they had finished, our company mascot, a billy goat
camouflaged with a bunch of whiskers and an unshaven glue factory
breath gobbled the whole blooming business.

Speaken of eats, the Gov't certainly comes across with the gorging.
That is, there's plenty of it, but the "maynew" is not as long as a
search warrant. But O, my kingdom for a plate of ham and eggs. Ham is
scarcer here than at a Jew wedding feast, and as for eggs, there ain't
no sich thing in the world. I think that some of Bill of Berlin's
ginks in this country have been hanging up birth control "info" in
every hen house in the U.S. least ways sumpin has happened to corner
the market.

Well, deary, far be it from me to say how long this war will last. I
got a scheme to end it, so I'm gonna spill it to you, and here she is;
Lock Theo. Roosevelt and his three sons in the same room with William
the Twicer and his seven sons; whichever cums out at the end of an
hour wins the war. You bet when this cums off I'll hold a ticket on
Theo. Well honey bunch, I had a lovely dream last eve, I dreamed that
you and me was holding down a park bench, with not a cop in sight.
I had just taken you in my arms, and touched your ruby lips, when I
suddently awoke to find the captain's pet sausage hound was licking my
nose. Some day there's gonna be a first class dog funeral in this camp
and that lop-eared canine is gonna ride in the head wagon.

It's so cold down here that if a guy wanted a hair cut all he'd haft
to do would be to wet his hair, leave his hat off, and break off the
icicles, More Anon.

Yours until Lillian Rustle retires,

BARNEY.

P.S.--I'd rather be a lamp post on Broadway, than a ten story building
down here.

[Illustration: "The Captin's pet sausage hound wuz lickin' my face."]

In Camp C, W and H.

(Meaning cold, wet and hungry.)

Dere Star of My Heart,