It's a lively little burg, Allentown, even if I didn't know it was on the map before. At the station you take a trolley that runs straight through the town and out to the fair grounds, where the camp is located. Goin' up the hill, you pass through the square and by the Soldiers' Monument. Say, it's some monument, too. Then out a long street lined with nice, comfortable-lookin' homes, until you get a glimpse of blue hills rollin' away as far as you can see, and there you are. The boys piloted us past the guard at the gates, through a grove of trees, and left us at the information bureau, where a soldier wearin' shell-rimmed glasses listened patient while mother and sister both talked at once. "Bliss? Just a moment," says he, reachin' for a card-index box. "Yes, ma'am. Wilfred Stanton. He's here." "But where?" demands Mrs. Bliss. "Why," says the soldier, "he's listed with the casuals just now. Quartered in the cow-barn." "The--the cow-barn!" gasps Mrs. Bliss. The soldier grins. "It's over that way," says he, wavin' his hand. "Anyone will tell you." They did. We wandered on and on, past the parade ground that used to be the trottin' track, past new barracks that was being knocked together hasty, until we comes to this dingy white buildin' with all the underwear hung up to dry around it. I took one glance inside, where the cots was stacked in thick and soldiers was loafin' around in various stages of dress and undress, and then I shooed mother and sister off a ways while I went scoutin' in alone. At a desk made out of a packin'-box I found a chap hammerin' away at a typewriter. He salutes and goes to attention. "Yes, sir," says he, when I've told him who I'm lookin' for. "Squeaky Bliss. But he's on duty just now, sir." I suggests that his mother and sister are here and would like to have a glimpse of him right away. "They'd better wait until after five, sir," says he. "I wouldn't like to try holdin' 'em in that long," says I. "Very well, sir," says he. "Squeaky's on fatigue. Somewhere down at the further end of the grand stand you might catch him. But if it's his mother--well, I'd wait." I passes this advice on to Mrs. Bliss. "The idea!" says she. "I wish to see my noble soldier boy at once. Come." So we went. There was no scarcity of young fellows in olive drab. The place was thick with 'em. Squads were drillin' every way you looked, and out in the center of the field, where two or three hundred new ambulances were lined up, more squads were studyin' the insides of the motor, or practicin' loadin' in stretchers. Hundreds and hundreds of young fellows in uniform, all lookin' just alike. I didn't wonder that mother couldn't pick out sonny boy. "What was it that man said?" she asks. "Wilfred on fatigue. Does that mean he is resting?" "Not exactly," says I. About then sister Marion begins to exhibit jumpy emotions. "Mother! Mother!" says she, starin' straight ahead. "Look!"