Simplicity has cash value. That is why the magazines pay such excellent prices for the clear word--which is the hardest of all to write. LA CATHEDRALE ENGLOUTIE Bells far and fine Lost evermore To the blue sky, Yet still implore And bid us fly The citied roar, To seek God's shrine And hold divine The rich, deep things That men decry. A bell that rings And echoes o'er On angels' wings; Sweetly it sings-- "All life is thine! Give God an hour And feel His power Steal far and fine Like bells across The city's dross--" THE NAKED MAN A section of the Argonne wood is feebly lighted by distant star shells. Over the mechanical and human wreckage eddies the vapor of poison gas; yet the two men sitting against the ruined gun-emplacement wear no masks, and seem not to feel the gas. One is a husky chap, a marine; his left foot, gone above the ankle, is replaced by an ineffectual tourniquet. The other is a conscript; across his breast is a wide gash of bubbling red. Nearby lies a German, bayonet-gashed, who from time to time opens his eyes. At his knee lies an empty U.S.A. canteen. The Marine: You were a damn' fool to give him that bottle! Not that it matters to us, only-- The Conscript, smiling: You gave him yours first! The Marine: Sure; I figured yours 'ud do us, but we should worry now! Say, Fritzie learned somethin' about fightin' today, huh? The Conscript: I feel like writing a poem about it; only I'll never write it, of course-- The Marine: Cut the comedy, bo! Say, the way you knifed this guy was one swell bit o' work! After he ploughed you up, too! The poet-conscript shivers. The German opens his eyes wide and looks at them. The German: Listen--the music! Can you hear it? The Brunhilde motif; it is the valkyr coming for me-- His eyes close again, his head droops. The Marine: Plumb nuts; I bet he ain't et a square meal in a year! Say, what d'you figure on seein' next, bo? The Conscript, blankly: Eh? The Marine: Why, we don't swallow no bull about fightin' for democracy and goin' to heaven; everybody except the home folks is wise to that bunk. But where do we land on the other side, hey? Fightin' Heinie won't ticket us to the pearly gates, will it? The Conscript, gazing at the curling trees in the mist: Search me! Religion never bothered me much; and just now I'm sorry. The Marine: Sorry, hell! Cut out the regrets. If you hadn't give that guy your canteen we might ha' lasted till morning. The Conscript: If you hadn't crawled to help prop him up, your tourniquet might not have given way-- Suddenly startled, both men turn their heads. Before them appears the figure of a man, nearly naked, an open wound in his side; he is regarding them attentively. The Marine: Hullo! Where in hell did you come from--front lines? Sit down and take it easy; no Croy Rouge nor nothin' here to hurry you. Got it bad?