m. One was a scarf dance that
I made up to the "Missouri Waltz," and then the good old cachuca,
arranged for another waltz. I had to adapt my dances to the available
music. Of course I won an easy triumph, having no competitors, and
being the first girl they had seen on the stage for many a day.
There's no danger of my getting vain; don't worry. The other stunts
ranged from the comic to the serious. All were loudly applauded. Some
were awfully good. One sensitive-faced boy played the violin. He had
been gassed on the front and had completely lost his voice. It seemed
as though he put everything he could not say into that three-dollar
violin, such a beautiful, living tone he got. The miserable
instrument, the acoustics of the rude mess hall and the jangling piano
accompaniment could not detract from the real music he gave us, and
the crowd, recognizing it to be real, whistled and clapped and
demanded more. Two nights after, we repeated our show, and this time
the Major honored us with his presence and said many nice things to us
afterward.

Since this show, the battalion orchestra has become an institution. I
have made several trips to Semur in search of instruments. The last
time I came back in the Major's side-car in the pouring rain with two
cornets, a saxophone and a flute packed in around me under the
blankets. These were given me by the Entertainment Department at
General Headquarters, after nearly an hour's arguing to convince them
that they were needed. It is a great addition. Now the orchestra plays
always at the movies when they come to town, about twice a week, and
last Friday they played at our dance. I will tell you about that.

I thought it was about time to do something for the officers, as they
need fun just as much as the enlisted men, so I proposed a dance.
"Where will you get the girls?" they said. "The Red Cross nurses in
Semur," said I. "There is no hall here large enough for a dance," said
they. "Yes there is!" said I. Mme. Gloriod had told me of a wooden
floor made to fit over the tank in the village "lavoir," which the
mayor of Pouillenay had had made in the happy days before the war.
The lavoir is a good-sized stone structure with a large tank of soapy
water in the middle, round which the women scrub and pound their
clothes, gossiping, laughing and scolding all the day long in their
raucous French. It is not easy to imagine an up-to-date American dance
in this mediaeval, sloppy spot. The Major