The Major calmly asked, “Lieutenant, have you inspected the radio unit to-day?” Whereupon the Lieutenant solemnly said, “No, Sir, I have not inspected it, but I am positive that the operators are right on the job,” and he described definitely the place from which we had just come. We asked him the name of his radio operators. They were all privates. With the Captain and the Radio Officer we went over to the radio station. It was still deserted. The Major began to tell the Lieutenant in language that will not permit of repetition just what he thought of him. The Lieutenant was speechless, and out of sympathy for him I made the suggestion that there was an airplane above which was probably calling them now and that it might be a good idea if we could get some one there at the station to listen in. The Radio Officer grasped the opportunity, jumped down and put the clickers to his ears, and the first thing he said was, “Q-P-R, Q-P-R—that’s our call!” I felt like a million dollars, for this time the Artillery was forced to concede that it was not the fault of the airplane. With the assistance of the Major and the Captain we manipulated the panels while the wireless officer took the calls and the lad in the airplane did the adjustment. Then we went back to find out where the radio operators were; that is, the three privates. The Captain dispatched an orderly to find the first sergeant. In about five minutes the sergeant was located and made his appearance. He was an old non-commissioned officer and was seasoned by experience in many climes and in dealing with many classes of men. He was rather heavy, and had not shaved for several days, which fact, in addition to his heavy, disheveled mustache, gave him the appearance of a hardboiled bulldog. “Sergeant,” began the Captain, “do you know where the radio operators are?” “Yes, sir,” grumbled the top soak, affirmatively nodding his head with self-satisfaction that he quite well knew where they were. “Well,” went on the Captain, “I want to see them at once. If you will show me their quarters it will save time.” “They ain’t in their quarters,” came the reply. “They’re in the kitchen.” We went to the kitchen and found the three expert radio operators—two were scrubbing big, black pans and the third was peeling spuds. For moral effect, the Captain called the Top Sergeant off to one side. The rest of us had to laugh. “Why have you got these men in the kitchen?” hotly demanded the Captain. “Well, Sir,” replied the Sergeant, closing in his jaws firmly in determination, “there ain’t no more reason why the rest of the battery should do K. P. and excuse the wireless men. I heard one of ’em say yesterday that he ain’t never done no K. P. since he’d been in this man’s army, and that kind er talk is bad for the morale of the battery, so I just stuck ’em all on fer a few days to show the fellers they ain’t no favors played in this battery.”