Did I tell you that there’s a nerve hospital near here crowded with nerve-shattered babies on one floor and nerve-shattered Tommies on the next? The babies are all dressed in red and the Tommies in the usual hospital blue. Each day the shell-shocked chaps go up to visit the children; the moment the door opens and the blue figures appear, the little red crowd stretch out their arms and cry, “My soldier! My soldier!” for each Tommy has his own particular pet. When a child gets a nervous attack, it is often only the one particular soldier who can do the soothing. Who’d think that men fresh from the carnage could be so tender! And people say that war makes men brutal. Humph! XXIV A French Port January 3, 1918 Here I am again in France and extraordinarily glad to be here. I feel that I’m again a part of the game—I couldn’t feel that while I was in London. I landed here this morning and arrive in Paris to-night. The crossing was one of the quietest. I know a lot of people didn’t lie down at all, and still others slept with their clothes on. Like a sensible fellow I crept into my berth at 9 p.m., and slept like a top till morning. If we’d been submarined I shouldn’t have known it. I feel tremendously elated by the thought of this new adventure, and intend to make the most of it. As you know, nothing would have persuaded me to delay my return to the Front except an opportunity for doing work of these dimensions. I really do believe that I have the chance of a lifetime to do work of international importance. I want to make the Americans feel that they have become our kinsmen through the magnitude of their endeavour. And I want to make the British shake off their reticence in applauding the magnanimity of America’s enthusiasm. It’s been snowing here; but I don’t feel cold because of the warmth inside me. The place where I am now is one of the pleasure-haunts which Eric and I visited together in that golden summer of long ago. Little did I think that I should be here next time in such belligerent attire and on such an errand. Life’s a queer kaleidoscope. But, oh, for such another summer, with the long secure peace of July days, and the whole green world to wander! One doubts whether El Dorado will ever come again. I see the girl-soldiers of England everywhere nowadays. A reinforcing draft crossed over with me on the steamer—high complexions and laughing faces, trim uniforms and tiny ankles. They’re brave! It’s a pity we can’t give them a chance of just one crack at the Huns. But they have to stop behind the lines and drive lorries, and be good girls, and beat typewriters. Their little girl-officers are mighty dignified. What a gallant world! I wouldn’t have it otherwise.