Now and then I catch a glimpse of Jenicho the Russian giant, but he is very shy. A huge lumbering fellow, sluggish, and seemingly stupid, with little pig eyes that are quite lost to sight when he smiles, Jenicho is the butt of the Company. When he joined the regiment last summer, they tell me, he knew no word of English. The first phrase that he acquired was; “You no bodder me.” For the boys can’t resist the temptation to plague Jenicho, and though his strength is such that if he once should get his hands on his tormentors he could break them into bits, he is so slow withal that they always can elude him. Not long ago Jenicho was walking post one night when the Officer of the Day hailed him and announced himself. To which Jenicho lustily responded; “Me no give damn. Me walk post, gun loaded, bay’net fixed. You no bodder me. Me shoot!” And the Officer of the Day discreetly walked on. Then there is little Philip R. who plays our decrepit old piano quite brilliantly by ear, and who is, he tells me, half Greek and half Egyptian. Philip R. is the pet of a French family in one of the neighboring villages. He stopped at a house to ask for a drink of water when out walking one day. Madame asked him in, pressed him to stay to supper. The family made much of him, and all because forsooth he was the first “American” they had ever seen. Since then he has been a constant welcome visitor. There is St. Mary too. If you can conceive of a cherub eating watermelon you have a perfect picture of St. Mary. St. Mary converses entirely in words of one syllable and very few at that. He makes smiles serve for speech. St. Mary loses everything he owns; not long ago he lost his overcoat, now he has lost his bayonet. Yet St. Mary is the best natured boy in the company; he needs to be. When St. Mary helps me stir the chocolate it seems as if half the company lined up on the other side of the counter to shout; “St. Mary! Take your dirty hands out er that there chocolate!” and St. Mary never says a word but grins until his eyes are nothing but little slits and ducks his head until only the curls on top are visible. “St. Mary, he’s kind o’ simple,” explains Private Gatts. “But there ain’t anybody in camp that’s got a better heart.” And there is Bruno, Angelo Bruno, a little grinning goblin of a man, but strong, they say, as a gorilla. Bruno gives the non-coms no end of trouble; he’s a “tough nut to manage.” Whenever he is told to do anything that does not suit his tastes, he merely shrugs his shoulders, “No capish,” and that’s the end of it. The other day while on guard he was interrogated by the Officer of the Day. “What’s your name?” “Bruno.” “What are your general orders?” “Angelo.” The Officer gasped, thought he would try again. “What are your special orders?” Bruno saw a light. “They’re ina my pock!”