“Yes, sir. Two men killed, besides Smithers, and Boone and seven others wounded. The men were all fine. After the shelling died down at dusk, and we were settling into our new positions, two or three Huns who knew a little English started to josh us; explained how they were coming over presently to turn us out, and beat us up, and show themselves a time generally. Finally one of our men, called McCarthy, pushed his head over the sandbags, and yelled: ‘Aw, what’s the use of pulling that stuff? Is this a War, or a Chautauqua?’ That fixed them. I guess McCarthy had stepped right outside their vocabulary!” “Great boys, great boys!” chuckled the Colonel. “They were just the same on the Hindenburg Line.” He turned to Floyd. “Our idioms there puzzled some of our British friends, Major. But between us we got the goods on old man Hindenburg, I fancy.” “I have heard rumours to that effect, Colonel,” replied Floyd. “The coöperation was pretty good, eh?” “It was great,” said the Colonel. “French, British, or American, it did not seem to matter who was in command. We all kept touch, and we all made our objectives. And team-work! Here is a letter I received from an Australian commander under whom we worked for quite a while. He was a busy man, but he found time to write me this.” The Colonel produced a frayed field-despatch from the breast pocket of his tunic, and read: _I desire to take the opportunity of tendering to you, as their immediate commander, my earnest thanks for the assistance and service of the four companies of Infantry who participated in yesterday’s brilliant operations. The dash, gallantry, and efficiency of these American troops left nothing to be desired, and my Australian soldiers speak in the very highest terms in praise of them._ “There is some more,” added the Colonel, “but that will be sufficient to show you what that General thought of my boys. The Australians have a pretty high standard of their own, and they don’t pin orchids on other people unnecessarily. So we appreciated _this_.” He tapped the despatch. “The fact is, we were a band of brothers. The only occasion upon which we indulged in anything like ceremony or company manners was on the Fourteenth of July. (Corresponds to our Fourth.) I went along with a few others to represent the Americans at a swell lunch which was to be given in the Town Hall of Amiens in honor of the occasion. Amiens was under shell-fire at the time—right in view of the enemy, who were up on the high ground back of Villers Brettoneux, not ten miles away. But no one worried. We had our lunch in a cellar—French, British, Australian, and American officers. Some lunch! There were flowers on the table, too. _Flowers!_ God knows where they came from. But that’s France—just France! They had to have them! Speeches, too, by Senators from Paris. _Speeches_, with German shells bursting in the street outside! They’re a great nation!”