d the
orderlies and batmen each in his own place in the spacious rooms melted
into a tender hearing that feared to move lest the spell be broken and
the artist leave the instrument. Men who did not know how lonesome they
had been and who had missed the refinements of home more than they knew,
blessed the player with their pensive listening, thanked fortune they
were still alive and had chances of fighting through to get home again.
And after playing ceased the British officer talked quietly of his home
and the home folks and Americans thought and talked of theirs. And it
was good. It was an event.

In sharp contrast is the vivid memory of that picturesque Lt. Bob Graham
of the Australian Light Horse. He could have had anything the doughboy
had in camp and they would have risked their lives for him, too, after
the day he ran his Russian lone engine across the bridge at Verst 458
into No Man's Land and leaped from the engine into a marsh covered by
the Bolo machine guns and brought out in his own arms an American
doughboy. Starting merely a daredevil ride into No Man's Land, his
roving eye had spied the doughboy delirious and nearly dead flopping
feebly in the swamp.

Hero of Gallipoli's ill-fated attempt, scarred with more than a score of
wounds; with a dead man's shin bone in the place of his left upper arm
bone that a Hun shell carried off; with a silver plate in his
head-shell; victim of as tragic an occurrence as might befall any man,
when as a sergeant in the Flying Squadron in France he saw a young
officer's head blown off in a trench, and it was his own son, Bob
Graham, "Australian Force" on the Railroad Detachment, was missed by the
doughboys when he was ordered to report to Archangel.

There the heroic Bob went to the bad. He participated in the shooting
out of all the lights in the Paris cafe of the city in regular wild
western style; he was sent up the river for his health; he fell in with
an American corporal whose acquaintance he had made in a sunnier clime,
when the American doughboy had been one of the Marines in Panama and Bob
Graham was an agent of the United Fruit Company. They stole the British
officer's bottled goods and trafficked unlawfully with the natives for
fowls and vegetables to take to the American hospital, rounded up a
dangerous band of seven spies operating behind our lines, but made such
nuisances of themselves, especially the wild Australian "second looie,"
that he was ordered back to