And, finally, there was the clothing for prisoners of war and interned enemy aliens. This was not manufactured for the purpose but, instead, the uniforms discarded by our own men were dry-cleaned, repaired, and dyed a special shade of green—a glaring emerald-green—so that the wearer could be distinguished as a prisoner as far as the eye could see him. I remember watching a column of German prisoners leaving the prison stockade near Atlanta one morning on their way to work. In the front rank, his red mustache bristling fiercely, was a peculiarly haughty and insolent head steward whom I had known in those days, now long past, when self-respecting persons crossed the Atlantic on German liners. He was fatter than when I had last seen him, and in his bright-green prisoner’s uniform he looked for all the world like an animated cabbage. There is a certain appropriateness in the fact that the uniforms with which we supplied our captured Germans cost the government just thirty cents apiece. For more than forty years the woollen shirts worn by American soldiers have been made at the great Quartermaster Depot at Jeffersonville, in southern Indiana. In order to give employment to as many of those who needed it as possible, it has always been the policy of the depot to distribute the sewing of the shirts among the women of the community, so, upon the outbreak of war, there were some 2,000 sewing operatives working for the government in or near Jeffersonville. When word was received from Washington that shirts were required in enormous quantities and with the least possible delay, appeals were made by means of posters and through the press to the women throughout that region to increase the output of shirts for our soldiers. The response was as quick as it was gratifying. Women who did not need the money gave up their duties or their pleasures and turned to sewing. Soon there was scarcely a woman along that portion of the Ohio who was not, like the industrious Sister Susie, sewing shirts for soldiers. The number of operatives jumped from 2,000 to 20,000 almost overnight; the yearly output of shirts rose from 600,000 to 8,500,000. The operatives were required to call at the depot, where unmade garments, which had already been cut, were issued to them, together with the necessary trimmings and a completed shirt to be used as a guide, the garments being sewn at home and returned to the depot for inspection. In order to care for the thousands of women who came flocking into Jeffersonville to secure shirts, first-aid stations had to be established at the depot. A Sanitary Bureau was also organized and a corps of sanitary inspectors were employed to visit the homes of all the operatives to see that the shirts were being sewn under proper sanitary conditions. As a further precaution, the shirts were fumigated upon their return to the depot, thus insuring the soldier against any risk of contagion from this source. When the Armistice, was signed the