We must have a very capable Mess Sergeant in this barracks, for the meals here are mighty good; better than those we received in the other barracks. We actually had ice cream and tea this noon, a thing unheard of in most of the barracks. And our cook is a wonder. He’s an old cockney sea-dog, who looks like a regular buccaneer, and he has a parrot, too, whom he calls Jock. Jock spends most of his time sitting on the edge of the coal bin shrieking “Lazy Pig.” But neither Jock nor his master has a sense of humour; the cook gets mad when he finds a man trying to ring in a third helping and when he gets mad, Jock screams: “Lazy pig, lazy pig,” and dances up and down in a frenzy. [Illustration: Our cook looked like a regular buccaneer.] I went back to the old barracks last night, to find the place almost filled with new men, all worried looking and pale, and much disturbed over that first night horror, the “needle.” I didn’t relieve their mental anguish a particle, which was most unchristian-like. Several of the men remaining from the former company told me that most of the original company had been split up between the “Suicide Club” which is the machine gun companies, the transportation division and the infantry. As for “Local Board No. 163” no one had seen him about. Possibly he has become disgusted with high-toned individuals who object to fleas, and has gone off and joined the infantry. Well I wish him luck. I really believe I’m taking a very deep interest in this soldiering after all. I didn’t think I would at first, but now I find I’m watching the colour of my hat cord with interest. I want to see it lose its newness and get faded-out looking, like a regular soldier’s hat cord. Saturday: On the camp calendar, to-day is marked down as a half-holiday, which is another one of the pleasant little jokes they have down here. It is a half-holiday. We quit drilling at twelve o’clock. But there is a Sunday ceremony they have called inspection and sometimes when the Lieutenant wants to leave camp early on Sunday he decides to hold inspection on Saturday afternoon. About twelve o’clock some one reminds some one else that the aforementioned ceremony is on the program of weekly events, and thereby spoils the whole pleasure for the day. At inspection the Lieutenant saunters through the barracks, inspects the beds and the stacks of underclothing, socks and similar equipment piled thereon, and if said underclothing, etc., do not show signs of recent acquaintance with soap and water, almost anything is likely to happen. And, of course, since no one is systematic about doing washing, all the dirty clothing and extra socks pile up until Saturday, and then on the half-holiday the scrubbing tables in the rear of the barracks are the most popular playgrounds.