We passed an occasional soldier, but it was a nice clear day, and the large majority were out in the fields and hills rehearsing. Our boys, I’m told, are getting quite a workout. Usually they leave their billets at seven in the morning, walk from six to twelve miles to a drill ground, and work till half past four in the afternoon. Then they take the long hike “home” and wonder how soon supper will be ready. Frequently, however, there is practise in night trench warfare, and then the grind continues till ten or eleven o’clock. The work is hard, but so, by this time, are the boys. The captain on whom we called said he was glad to meet me, which is the first time that has happened in France. We asked him whether there was any news. He said yes, that the Salvation Army had established headquarters in the camp. “I’m glad,” he remarked, “that they’ve decided to go in on our side. It may influence the Kaiser’s friend Gott.” The chief need of the soldiers, he went on, was amusement. The Salvation Army’s and Y. M. C. A.’s efforts were appreciated, but continual rations of soup and meat palled at times, and a little salad and dessert, in the form of Charlie Chaplin or the Follies, would make life more bearable. “Some American theatrical producer,” said the captain, “could win our undying gratitude by shipping over a stock company with a small repertory of shows, with music, and _girls_. I believe he’d find it profitable too. When the boys get paid they don’t know what to do with their money. There’s nothing to spend it on in these parts.” The captain invited us to dinner, but we had a previous date with members of the Censorship Bureau. These entertained us with stories which I voluntarily delete. From their hotel we returned to our own, held a brief song service in the correspondents’ mess, and called it a day. _Friday, August 31. At an American Camp._ “Would you like to meet General Sibert?” asked Mr. Corey. General Sibert’s name is one of the two that may be mentioned. I said I would, and we left after breakfast for the next village, where headquarters is situate. In the outer office were some clerks and a colonel. The latter could never be accused of excessive cordiality. “The general is busy,” he said. “How long will he be busy?” inquired Mr. Corey. “I have no idea,” said the colonel. Mr. Corey and I felt we would be warmer outdoors, so we climbed back in our car and asked our sergeant-driver to take us to the nearest training grounds. Here an infantry regiment was going through simple drill, and calisthentics which were far from simple. The nearest captain approached, smiled pleasantly and asked what he could do for us. We introduced ourselves. “Correspondents, eh?” he said. “Well, then, you can do something for us--make the newspapers and magazines quit calling us Sammies. We’ve never done anything to deserve a name like that.” “What’s the matter with it?” we inquired.