Having some business in St. Louis in connection with our canteen or camp exchange which necessitated the carrying of my haversack, I had left camp for the Olive Street car line, when I noticed a fellow in hot pursuit who reminded me of a butterfly catcher in a field of daisies down on the farm. Hailing me, he gasped, “Mail-man, please stamp these cards and mail them for me;” handing me a half-dollar with a bunch of post-cards, he continued on his leap-frog gait. “Whoa! come back here,” I shouted. “Oh, that’s all right; buy yourself some cigars with the change,” he answered. On mailing them I noticed they were all addressed to Arkansas; that accounts for it, I said to myself, he must be one of those Arkansas travellers. Not far from our camp was a high spiral tower, on the top of which was the wireless telegraph exhibit connected by a lift or elevator. “Is this the scenic railway?” a young lady inquired. “Not yet,” I replied; “that is the elevated railroad.” She smiled and thanked me very much. Why, they even went to the Kentucky building to invite Daniel Boone out for dinner! Every day the marine camp was the scene of a constant stream of visitors, many of whom were in search of friends and relatives. For more than a year before my departure from the Philippine Islands I had studiously contemplated serving at this post of duty, and felt assured of my success, so in consequence had written a number of friends in various cities of the United States who I knew were anticipating the pleasures of the greatest show on earth. The cool days of early autumn seemed to be the most popular season for the Eastern and Western visitors; each day groups of friends, ensconced under the khaki canvas of an A wall tent or seated on steamer-chairs along the smooth level lawn, joined in social intercourse with these jolly rovers of land and sea. Tent number 2 was daily the scene of some festive occasion, the erstwhile pranks of which were likened unto a scene from the “Rodgers Brothers in Paris.” On these occasions the author was assisted by his dear friends and compatriots Boland and Fynmore. Before going to St. Louis as pay-clerk of the battalion, I had spent three years afloat and in the tropics, and during that time had met but one man from my native town, with the exception of my father, who visited me in Washington, D. C., prior to our departure, and whose perplexities in the Executive Mansion on meeting President Roosevelt were brimful of excellent humor even though the seasoning was of the ludicrous variety.