In passing through Paris, I found that I can remain in the French Army at my option, which I choose to do for some months. I am slowly using up the great stock of clothing I brought over with me. The hip boots are best just now. I was dressed in my brown sweater, my American campaign hat, black boots, and rain coat. I had just finished signing up, when I heard the door open and smelled some one come in. It was a mixture of Port and Burgundy wines that I smelled. Having heard that the captain had a taste for wine, I wheeled around and came to a salute. He looked me over, up and down, and asked me who I was. I said I was an American in the _Legion Étranger_, and that I had purchased my clothes at Marshall Field & Company’s on Washington Street, in Chicago. I knew he didn’t like my camouflage, because he turned to an assistant and said, “Dress this man in a complete French uniform.” The man took me in another room and tried on the clothes. I let him. When he started to hand me a blue flag, I looked at him questioningly. So he sat down on the floor and folded the flag lengthwise, running it over his knee to make the creases stay. When he finished, it was a two-inch band which he wound about my neck, gave a cross hitch, and pinned it with a pin he bit out of the lower corner of his coat. He was very serious all the time. He gave me a cap of the type discarded by the Miners’ Union in 1883. Except when I see the captain coming, I wear it under my coat. My new uniform is sky blue in rainy weather. In my next letter I’ll tell you how it looks when the sun shines. When the weather improves, we may fly. We are in the war zone now, about thirty-two miles from the Front. We can see the flare of artillery in the sky and hear the guns on a clear night. Today we took a walk to a village seven miles away, and crossed a road where many trains of trucks were passing with supplies. That begins to sound exciting, doesn’t it? In each village the houses are marked with the numbers of men and horses they can accommodate. I should be excited, but I’m not, because I’ll not see the Front for another month. Your ever lovin’ brother, DINS. _January 19, 1918._ DEAR FAMILY: Today I received twenty-five letters dating from November 1 to December 1....