Jimmy looked at the basin, the soap and towel. Then he looked long and hard at O. D. The woman stood fast, regarding them both, feeling suddenly guilty of having sinned again. “Corporal of the guard, relief, post number one,” shouted Jimmy. “Can you beat that, wouldn’t it drive a man nuts? I ask for a drink of water and the woman insists that I wash. No use, O. D.” Then to the woman, “_Madame, pas wash, cum saw_,” and he lifted the glass to his lips for the second time. _“Quoi? Boire de l’eau? Impossible!! Buvez donc du vin! quelle race! Eh! mon Dieu! ils bovvent de l’eau!_” (What! you want water to drink. Impossible. Drink the red wine. What people—what people! My God! they drink water), exclaimed the mystified woman, and she nearly went into fits. “_Oui, madame_,” insisted Jimmy, raising the glass up and down as if to convince her by that action of the sincerity of his words and meaning. “_Comme vous voulent, messieurs!_” (As you will then, messieurs), answered madame, and she went out for more water. Just as the boys were hitting the cheese or _fromage_ course as Jimmy insisted on calling it, the man of the house, or _patron_, as madame called him, blew in. He was nothing more and nothing less than a grizzled old poilu rigged up in civilian clothes. “_Bon swoir, messieurs_,” was his hearty greeting. “_Bonjour, monsieur_,” responded Jimmy, rising to shake his hand. “_Bonne mangee?_” asked the Frenchman, pointing to the table. “_Oui ... trey-bien_,” declared McGee, and he let out two notches in his belt to prove that he was well fed. The old man dragged up a chair and made believe he was going to roll a cigarette. Jimmy saw the act and got wise. “Here, have a regular cigarette,” he said, extending a pack of Piedmonts to the _patron_. “_Merci. Merci, monsieur._” “Take ’em all. I can get more. Suppose we ain’t too near the front yet for the Y. M. C. A.” “_Ah, monsieur, vous êtes très?-gentil, très bon._” (Ah, sir, you are very nice, very kind.) “Not at all.” Once the cigarette was lighted, the man of the house waddled over to the cupboard and extracted a long dark bottle. He came back to the table, measured out four glasses of brownish-looking stuff and handed them around. He touched his own against every one else’s and shouted: “_Vive l’Amérique!_” “_Vive la France!_” shouted Jimmy. The old cognac went down at a swallow. Everyone smacked their lips except O. D. He busied himself brushing away two big tears that filled his eyes. “_Bon_,” grunted the Frenchman. “_Ah, oui_,” answered Jimmy, patting his stomach. “_Mangee_,” said the husband. He sat down with his wife to a meal of soup, with bread floating around in it, a dish of boiled potatoes, bread, cheese, and wine. “Want to show you something, Jimmy,” said O. D., rising and getting an envelope out of his blouse. He spread a lot of pictures in front of Jimmy.