are that he is a self-seeker, while you have only to watch him with
Lucy to know that he is not. Yet he sedulously knocks and batters at
every feminine quality that the boy discloses, and will exaggerate any
statement if he thinks you suspect him of tenderness.

I shall presently make a dash, for the tent, snatch my tooth-brush and
make for the spigot, and bring back a basin of water for my feet. Then
Knudsen will bestir himself and race me for bed, at the same time that
Reardon lays by his pen and accepts our warning. We crawl between the
blankets, nine over us tonight. I shall put my poncho over me next, and
my overcoat on that, and with the tent-wall looped up shall be
practically outdoors.

Last of all Pickle will come slipping in from some rendezvous with
friends. He sleeps in his clothes, minus shoes and leggings, and he is
likely to be curled up before I am.

And then float to us the notes of Taps. "Love, good night. Must thou
go...?" It is the signal. The last one of us puts out the lantern, and it
is soon "Good night, boys," and silence. Usually I go to sleep at once;
if not I soon hear the feet of two of the sergeants in the street and see
the gleam of their lantern. They come from tent to tent, enter ours and
throw the light on each cot, and pass on. Often I hear from the
neighboring tents a sleepy "Good night, sergeant," but never yet the
question "Who sleeps in that cot?" A high average, then, of obedience to
the rules. The men are here for business.

I have lingered almost too long. Good night!

DICK.

THE SAME TO THE SAME

Plattsburg, 20th Sept., 1916.

DEAR MOTHER:--

It promises today, Wednesday, to be showery once more, so we are making
up our packs with the ponchos out, ready for use. Post-mortems of
yesterday's scores are still going on. The boys are all well and lively,
except that I have just passed Randall standing gloomy at the door of his
tent, feeling very much insulted because someone at breakfast called him
a grabber. Apart from him the street is humming with talk, as the boys
make up their packs upon the hard-trodden sand.

It is a very amusing thing, this confusion and talk of the street, as men
on errands make their way among the kneeling figures, the police squad
tries to do its work, the sergeants pass, and jokes or criticism are
bandied about. We are becoming