with the eager, hungry bluejackets, to hear the buzz of lively conversation carried on in the pervading aroma of fried eggs, favourite dish or sandwich of apparently every doughboy and tar. One's admiration grows for the Y. workers who keep at the weary grind of washing floors, picking up stray cigarette buts, and washing innumerable eggy plates. I realized to the full what a poor old college professor who "helped" in a hut on the French front meant when he had said to me, "life is just one damned egg after another." Of course sometimes the "hen fruit"--one hears all kinds of facetious aliases at the Hut--gives way to _soi disant_ buckwheat cakes, a dainty, lately honoured by royal attention. Should you stroll about the buildings, you will see sailors and soldiers reading in good, comfortable chairs; some playing various games, others sitting in quiet corners writing letters home. There is inevitably a crowd round the information bureau. Alas, for the poor human encyclopedia, he lives a bewildering life. On the morning that I called he had been asked to supply the address of a goat farm by a quartermaster charged with the buying of a mascot, and he was just recovering from this when a sailor from the Grand Fleet demanded a complete and careful résumé of the British marriage regulations! Everybody seems cheerful and contented; the officials are attentive and kind; the guests good-natured and well-behaved. Such is the combination of club, restaurant, and hotel to which our Jack resorts. And there he lives content in his islet of America, while London roars about him. During the week, he wanders, as he says himself, "all over the place." The good time ends with the Saturday ball game. Everybody goes. Posters announce it through London in large black type on yellow paper. "U.S. Army _vs._ U.S. Navy." The field is most American looking; the "bleachers" might be those in any great American town. The great game, the game to remember, was played in the presence of the king. The day was a good one, though now and then obscured with clouds; a strangely mixed audience was at hand, wounded Tommies, American soldiers speaking in all the tongues of all the forty-eight states, a number of American civilians from the embassy and the London colony, groups of dignified staff officers from the army and the navy headquarters, and even a decorous group of Britons dressed in the formal garments which are de rigueur in England at any high-class sporting event. Then in came the king walking ahead of his retinue, ... a man of medium height with a most kind and chivalrous face. Our admiral walked beside him. The band played, eager eyes looked down, the king, looking up, smiled, and won the good-will of every friendly young heart. A few minutes later, the noise broke forth again, "Oh you Army!" "Oh you Navy," a hullaballoo that culminated in a roar, "Play Ball!"