out a garden. From what I seen of him though I dont see how he
found out.

[Illustration: "I EVEN GOT MUD IN MY HAIR"]

[Illustration: "THE WATER COMES THROUGH ON ME"]

Its pourin rain an awful cold. Its so cold that the tooth past rolls
right offen your brush in the morning. The Captin has a cold in his
nose. He says he wont take the men out in such bad wether as today.
Taint nothin gainst him Mable but I hope he has a cold all winter.

Theres a hole in the tent over my cot where the water comes through on
me. I put a slicker over me last nite. The water made puddles in it.
Then when I turned over they spilt out into my shoes. This had me
guessin Mable till finally I put Max Glucoses shoes there instead of
mine. Angus MacKenzie had so many holes over his cot that it looked like
one of those safety fire sprinklers. He got up last nite and rigged his
shelter half sos the water hit it an run down onto the next cot. Hes a
brite fello, Angus, even if he is a forener.

The other day he had some medecine for a cold. It says on the bottle
that it was 17 per cent alcohol. He drank the whole thing right down sos
nobody couldnt get hold of it. It made him awful sick but he says thats
because he isnt used to it for such a long time. Me an hims goin down
next week to put in a stock of tonics. Its awful hard to rite letters,
Mable. Somebodys always fallin over your feet or draggin something wet
over the paper if youve got a cot near the door like mine is. An when
you get goin finally at about the fourth try some sargent always comes
in with a list and makes you check up something.

Sometimes I go over to the Y.M.C.A., Mable. But as soon as you get ritin
a bald headed fello jumps up an says "Now fellos well all sing." All the
fellos whats ritin looks up an says "Aw one thing and another." I dont
know who the bald headed fello is. They got one in every Y.M.C.A. They
all look about alike. I guess there a regular issue. Theys always a
bunch of fellos what dont seem to kno why they came. They all start
singin. Then I cant rite no more or do nothin. So I come home an go to
bed. Independent. Thats me all over, Mable.

Most of the taxis is swalowed up in the mud. Theys only two or three
runnin now. Only the big strong fellos can get to town. The cook says
its the old theory of the arrival of the fittest. But I guess you dont
know nothin about cience, Mable. When I go to town I wrap my blouze in a
newspaper. If they know your goin th