were ready to add their praises to the chorus of
approval. During the intermission they strolled out into the flag
bedecked foyer to mingle with a crowd that was ninety per cent military
and which was in a highly appreciative frame of mind. One particularly
pleasing note had been added rather unexpectedly when one of the
feminine stars, in singing "Scotland Forever," had been interrupted by a
group of Highlanders who boosted onto the stage a red-headed,
bandy-legged, kilted Scotchman who had the voice of a nightingale. And
when, somewhat abashed, he took up the refrain, he was joined by a
thunderous chorus from the audience that made the listeners certain that
Scotland would never die so long as such fervor remained in the hearts
of her sons. The English soldiers, not to be outdone, had followed with
"God Save the King" and then, down the aisle with a flag torn from the
walls of the foyer stalked an American sergeant, holding aloft Old Glory
and leading his countrymen in the singing of "The Star Spangled Banner."

Trust a group of soldiers to take charge of a show and run it to suit
themselves. But they were pleased, beyond question, as was evidenced by
the buzzing conversations during the intermission.

"Great show, eh?"

"I'll tell the world!"

"Hey, Joe! You old son-of-a-gun! How'd you get down here? Thought you
were wiped out up at Wipers."

"Huh! Not me! They haven't made the shell that can get me. Look who's
over there with a nice cushy wound to keep him out of trouble. Old Dog
Face himself. Hey! Dog Face ... Come here!"

Such were the greetings of soldiers who hid their real feelings behind a
mask of flippancy.

McGee drew Larkin into an eddy of the milling throng where they could
the better watch what Red termed "the review of the nations." A
strapping big Anzac, with a cockily rosetted Rough Rider hat, strolled
arm in arm with a French Blue Devil from the Alpine Chasseurs. A kilted
Highlander, three years absent from his homeland and bearing four wound
stripes on his sleeve, was trying vainly to teach the words of "Scotland
Forever" to a Russian officer whose precise English did not encompass
the confusing Scotch burr. Mixed tongues, mixed customs, variety of
ideals; infantrymen, cavalrymen, artillerymen, war pilots; men with grey
at the temples and beardless youths; here and there a man on crutches,
here and there an empty sleeve, and many breasts upon which hung medals
awarded for intrepid courage; he