"Not while I was there. His wrist is still too sore. But he made me promise to bring paper, a pen, and everything, when I came again, and, if he can't write, one of us is to do it for him--but in English, mind!" "Well do it!" declared Bob. It was three days later when they all received permission to go to the rear and call on Iggy who was still in the hospital, though likely to be discharged as cured inside of a week. There was still a lull in the fighting about the sector where our five Brothers, or, rather, four, were stationed. But there was an indefinite something in the air that told of fierce battles to come. The Huns had too much at stake to wait long. "Ach! So glad it is I am to see you!" voiced Iggy, when the four were admitted to him. "Dit you paper and pen pring!" he asked Jimmy, eagerly. "I myself can write to mother now. See, shmine wrist she is all so K.O. now." "K.O.?" cried Roger. "What's the commanding officer got to do with your wrist, Iggy?" For, of course, you know that the commanding officer in an army is designated as "K.O." "He means O.K." declared Jimmy. "Got his letters twisted; that's all. He means his wrist is all right." "His wrist is all right and his letter will be all write," punned Roger. "That will be about all from you!" commented Bob, sternly. "Yes, Iggy, I've got all the makings for a first-class screed," went on Jimmy with a smile. "Do you want to write yourself, or shall I?" "Myself will I do it," said Iggy, simply. And when, after considerable labor, mental and physical, he handed the scribbled paper to Jimmy, he said: "Read her and see much how better as I do him in English now. Read him," and he indicated the letter he had written to his mother. And, to please him, and because there was nothing very personal in the epistle, Jimmy read it. His chums, at Iggy's request, read it also. And this is what Iggy's four Brothers saw: "Deer Mother. In bed am i and a pritty lady she bring to me all i can eats good, i was not shooted like is some of thee soljiers, but on me fell rocks and stoanes so i was moastly mushed but Roger and jimmee thay gat me oaut. i tell you of loav for yon i have mauch. soon i go fightting agen wich is batter than in hoarse-pottle bein. i got bumps an kuts but noat mooch alse. jimee he is to give me soam moaney what he gat for killing a bad germans and wen i gats my share to you i it sand will yet. good-bye deer Mother from your loafing soan Iggy." "That's a dandy letter!" declared Jimmy when he had finished reading it. "I'll get it right off for you, Iggy." "Better writing I am doing yes, is it not?" anxiously inquired the Polish lad. "You bet!" declared Bob, and his eyes, as well as those of his chums, were moist, for there was a pathetic note in the missive, in spite of its queerness. "He knew enough to use a capital now and then, which is more than he did at Camp Sterling," declared Bob, when they had left the hospital, to go back to their stations.