rushed half of Private Doe's squad. The other half,
calling down the road, summoned a good two companies, which came up on
the double.

At this point entered, front and centre, M. le Maire of the commune,
who, being the owner of the pig in distress, had more than a casual
interest in the proceedings. "The fire engine! The fire engine!" he
shouted, in accents both wild and French. But, since there had been no
fire in the town in fifty years, nobody seemed to know just what he
meant.

Fact! No fire in the town in fifty years! 'Way back in the days of
Napoleon III. there had been a fire, a little blaze, in the town. Think
of that, you insurance men who used to write policies for clothing
dealers on New York's East Side!

When he had sufficiently recovered his avoirdupois, M. le Maire dragged
out of the Hotel de Ville, with the aid of the embattled infantrymen,
_some_ fire apparatus, of early Bourbon vintage. One private who helped
handle it swears that he spotted the date "1748" on the leather hose
which led from a water tank, about twelve by eight by four, toward the
general direction of the fire. The tank, in turn, had to be filled by a
bucket brigade strung along from the scene of action to the village
fountain, about a quarter of a mile away.

Fire a Social Success.

It's a shame to spoil a good story, but Private Doe did not throw down
the pig into an army blanket held out to receive it. He clambered down a
smouldering flight of ladder stairs, with His Pigship under his arm,
quite unharmed, save for a severe nervous shock. Aside from a few
scorched kit bags, the loss of the top sergeant's cherished pipe, and a
few lungfuls of smoke acquired by Private Doe, the fire was not a
success--that is, from a historical standpoint. But as a social event,
in bringing the Americans--and Private Doe, kissed by the lady mayoress
for his pains, in particular--closer to the hearts of the villagers, it
was decidedly there.

----
JIM.
----

Honest, but Jim was the sourest man in all o' Comp'ny G;
You could sing and tell stories the whole night long, but never a
cuss gave he.
You could feed him turkey at Christmastime--and Tony the cook's no
slouch--
But Jim wouldn't join in "Three cheers for the cook!" Gosh, but he
had a grouch!

He wouldn't go up to the hill