The camp is still soggy to-day and we have drilled ankle deep in mud. My feet have been wet from the time I stepped out of the barracks until an hour ago, when I changed my socks and put on my dress shoes. But shucks, what appetites we brought back with us from the parade grounds. I never did care for fish, but I’ll be hanged if I didn’t eat three helpings of the creamed salmon and spaghetti to-night. A new wrinkle has developed here. We find out what the fellows are going to have for supper in nearby barracks and if the feed promises to be better than what we are to have several of us take our mess tins and go over and stand in line there. The Mess Sergeant never knows the difference. Saturday: Sad news this evening. Only twenty-five per cent. of each company is to be allowed to go home to-morrow, because of the disorder and general trouble at the railroad terminal last Sunday. And the twenty-five per cent. is to be drawn out of a hat. No chance for Fat or me, that’s certain. We’re mighty unlucky when it comes to passes and we are laying odds now that neither of us will get permission to go to the city. Anyhow, Fat is still in the same predicament. If he does get a pass he won’t be able to leave the camp. At the present writing we are all waiting for the mess call. And immediately after mess the Sergeant will do the drawing of the names for the passes. If I am not among the lucky ones I’m going to try and—there goes the mess call! Sunday: I am ready to die with a smile on my lips and a great happiness in my heart, for I’ve spent one night between clean sheets, on a really soft bed. I’ve eaten with a silver knife and fork from real dishes and—whispered softly—in the privacy of my own home I had a glass of beer! No, I wasn’t lucky (neither was Fat) but I think I put something over on Uncle Sam. The passes for the city were drawn for as per schedule and since I was down at the bottom of the list I was not included in the first twenty-five per cent. The passes issued read for New York City, and the men holding them were privileged to leave by certain trains, being marched down to the station under the watchful eye of the Second Lieutenant. Then, after these men were all away, came the opportunity for the men who lived near the camp and the men who wanted to visit nearby towns to apply for leave. This was my opportunity. I applied for thirty-six hours’ leave to visit the town of R——, twenty miles distant, and secured it.