I’ve been very popular with “Local Board No. 163,” since I’ve been in the kitchen. Honestly, if that dog had intelligence enough, I could almost believe that he induced that flea to start this dirty work, for he’s the only one in the whole company who has benefited by it. He hangs around the galley all the time and is waxing fat, prosperous and greasy; greasy because he got in the way of some dishwater that was being emptied out the back door. And now I’ll have to give him another scrubbing before we turn in, or he’ll be crawling in under my blankets again. Strange I haven’t received any letters yet. Some chaps are lucky. Letters seem to make a big difference in things, even if it’s only listening in on some other fellow’s. Every one reads letters out loud so that we can all enjoy them, for letters, no matter whom they are from, are real events here and one always gets a sinking feeling when he discovers there aren’t any for him. Thursday: Real luck at last. No more kitchen policing, thank goodness. It all happened thus: About the time we had cleaned up the remains of breakfast and I was getting ready to turn out for “settin’ ups,” along comes the Captain with two Lieutenants in tow, all with official looking papers. We lined up and he looked us all over very critically. Then he read: “Any members of this company qualified to fill the following positions, step one pace,” and a list of occupations followed that included everything from barber to horse trainer and stage carpenter. Quite a few of us stepped out. About ten of the Italian contingent responded at the word barber. Fat came forward as stage carpenter, and when he said artist I stepped three paces forward instead of one and, saluting, handed him my recommendation for the Camouflage Corps. I knew I wasn’t doing quite the proper thing. But you see we were all young and innocent of such things as military courtesy, and the Captain overlooked the fact that one pace didn’t mean three, and after he had mentally debated the question of calling me down in front of the company and had given me the benefit of inexperience, he read the recommendation. [Illustration: Fat was looking for the same barracks] The result was that I was ordered to report immediately to the 2-6 Company, 5-2 Depot Battalion. And with visions of avoiding physical exercises for about two hours and the preparing of a midday meal, I needed no urging. I gathered up my bed, hay mattress, blankets and all and proceeded to find the barracks of the 2-6 Company, 5-2 Depot Battalion. Of course, it had to be located at the other end of the twenty-four square miles of reservation. But I had company. Fat, loaded down like a dromedary under bed, blankets, a suitcase and all, was looking for the same barracks. So we started on our wanderings together, hopeful of finding our new home before dinner was served.