“Thus you saw them along the roads up Cambrai way last fall. When French troops were rushed into the gap that opened during the German drive of March, Mallet trucks carried them, and they were Mallet trucks which bore northward the French soldiers who made their sudden and startling appearance among the British in Flanders during the April fighting. The American troops and ammunition that were moved with a rush to the lines of the Chateau-Thierry front were transported, many of them, in the home grown camions of the Mallet Reserve. “The trucks themselves, if you examine them, tell many a story of transport under shell-fire, tell of machine gunners borne to the very rim of the battle so that gunners need only drop from the camion, run down a field and start firing.” When this book went to press, Mr. Day was still in service, with the American Army of Occupation. CAMION CARTOONS _October 6, 1918_ DEAR MOTHER— Today the war ended!—at least, one of the buck privates read it so. He got hold of a French newspaper, and caused some excitement until one of the boys, who could read the Lingo, commandeered the sheet. At any rate, the Huns are beginning to squeal. Just wait until a few Boche villages begin to get theirs, and peace notes will begin to come over.... Well! I arrived back in camp again after some jumping about France. We got away from Aix without any trouble, but from then on we began to wonder if we would get back into camp for Christmas. The trains over here hate to get anywhere. It was night when we arrived in Paris, late as usual, and so dark we had to hang on to each other to keep from getting lost. Having been there before, I was elected guide, and I got the gang to the Provost Marshal O. K., where we got our passes stamped, and then I left them for the University Union. Coming back from permission, I was not loaded down with money, but did have enough to see me through one night. The Union was crowded, but I found a place at a nearby hotel—a dandy room on the ground floor, which rather surprised me. During the bombing season, ground floor rooms are the first to be taken. [Illustration: MY GAWD PEACE! FRENCH WHERE? WHEN? WHAT?!] The next afternoon I went, with a lieutenant I had met at the Union, to take a look at Napoleon’s tomb. We walked over—the lieutenant’s pocketbook must have been as flat as mine. I will never regret going, and I shall never forget the thrill I got when standing in the doorway of the chapel and seeing that golden light flooding the cross. That golden light, that living cross, and the pale blue-gray rays falling from the side windows, made me feel miles from any one. The tomb itself was covered with sandbags. I remember going to the tomb when I was here with you, before the war; but how I could have forgotten that inspiring sight is beyond me.