Here you stopped and handed him your Service Record, after which he asked you your name, number, name and address of your wife or mother. He evidently wanted to know this in the event you did not come through the mill alive he could advise your nearest relative that you had been killed in action, or words to that effect. When you afterwards inquired what this slip was you were informed that it was a certificate to show that you had been through the mill. But why should they issue such a certificate before you had been through? Probably the government took a chance like the doughboy does when he signs the pay roll a month before he gets paid. If he did not sign re would not get paid and often when he does sign he don’t get paid, so “sanferriens.” Any way this man kept the Service Record, “mill slip,” and all, and you were ushered into the engine room. There was a great racket going on and your heart was beating like a trip hammer. You remembered you had not cut your toe nails for several weeks and you wondered if they would scratch your neck. You also wondered what part of your body went in first. Someone ordered you to move along, and along you moved until you came to a bin which reminded you of where your grandfather kept his potatoes. You looked around for the man who was administering the “Dope,” because you heard nobody scream or groan--or were some of those noises groans? Through the middle of this bin ran a railroad and in the middle of the track stood a man issuing orders, none of which you understood. Besides, the man in the bin behind you was talking louder than the man in your bin, so that you heard more of what he said than of what your man said; but after listening for a while you gleaned the fact that you were supposed to take off all your clothes, which you did.