SWOPE LAP-LAP—GURGLE SMACK——GULP FOR PETE SAKES KIRK ARE YOU PAGING A DEAD MAN!! STARTED BUT NOT FINISHED. INJOYING MP SOUP! AR LA FRENCH STYLE PICK PICK SNAP LINE OF ACTION. RIGHT IN MY EYE! PICKING MY TEETH AT THE TABLE IS A SURE THING. BLUE→YOU NEVE HEARD SUCH A — — NOISE. WHY THOSE — — OF HUNS — — ETC. SUCH LANGUAGE!! I FAINT!! AFTER MONTHS WITH THE BOYS THIS IS SURE TO HAPPEN THE DEAR BOY MUST BE DRUNK LOST AN AUTO. TIRE→BANG!! LOOK OUT FOR THE SHELL!! SOMETHING LIKE THIS WILL HAPPEN WHEN I HEAR A BLOW OUT! IS THIS PARIS OR BOSTON??? RIGHT ON THE ARM OF HER CHAIR PERHAPS I WILL ASK MYSELF THIS QUESTION MANY TIMES WHEN I GET HOME AFTER THE WAR SUCH THINGS AS THESE MAY HAPPEN! Kirk Day. Paris 17] From the shooting around here one would think that the war was still going on. Almost every one that has a gun is out banging away, and once in a while a mine will go off and shake the house. The Italians stationed here got hold of some rockets, and every night they dot the sky with red and green lights. Every day is a Fourth of July, but not a “safe and sane” one. The Italians were life savers in that they had a portable barber shop, first time we have run into a good barber shop in a long time. One of the boys in our company took a hand at the game, but after trying his luck on a few heads, the bottom fell out of his business. [Illustration: HAY KID! NUMBER 23 ROLLS!! D—N! AFTER YOU GET ALL DOLLED UP TO TAKE YOUR TOWN PERMISSION—THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS.] The camions are just about on their last legs. It is to be expected, as they are rolled “tous les jours” and they are not in the camp long enough for the drivers to work on them. Out of our eighteen cars we have about ten that are able to roll. If they keep on going, there won’t be anything left to drive and they will have to send us home. The American army has forgotten for so long that we, in the Reserve Mallet, are a part of them, we don’t expect them to think of us suddenly in this stage of the game. Permissions are still going on and no one seems in any hurry to get back. Those who were in Paris at the time of the signing of the armistice have wild tales to tell. [Illustration: GET OUT YOUR TOW ROPE!! AH OUI SARG! WHEN I BLOW THE WHISTLE GIVE HER ALL SHE’S GOT! GESS WE’LL HAVE TO GET THE JACK OUT! UP TO HER NECK SUPPOSE WE’LL HAVE TO UNLOAD THE BOAT! LOOKS LIKE AN ALL NIGHT JOB. THAT GUY IS ALWAYS TRYING TO BURY HIS CAMION! THE MECHANIC ANY DAY IN THE M.T.C. RESERVE MALLET.] _November 27_ DEAR MOTHER— The lid is off, at last we can come out of the trenches and go over the top in our letters. Old Man Censor has had his whiskers cut and we can throw the ink from bottle to paper without a worry.