“That’s mother, in her little rose-garden. This is Mary, always loved flowers, too. See she’s hiding behind some tall lilies, just so you can see her face.” “Gee, I can’t tell the difference between Mary and the lilies,” interrupted Jimmy, admiringly, as he looked upon the picture of Mary’s sweet, girlish face. “Golly! it must be pippin stuff to have a sister like that.” “Here’s some more of Mary, taken on the front stoop and one at the shore when I took her down there to go swimming one hot day.” Jimmy was so absorbed looking at Mary’s pictures that he didn’t hear the madame’s inquisitive question. “_Fiancée, fiancée?_” she asked, pointing to Mary’s photo. “No,” answered Jimmy at last, “sister, _compree_? _Sœur_ to _comrade_,” pointing to O. D., who nodded his head in affirmation. The snap of Mary taken on the beach fascinated Jimmy. He decided it should belong to him. When O. D. was not watching, the Yank who never let Boche shells or gas worry him swept the picture under his blouse with a strange feeling of unrest running through his body and soul. CHAPTER III—“THAT MULE WAS A SLACKER” “Jimmy, tell me how you happened to get in the army?” asked O. D. “Well, time the _guerre_ started I meant to enlist. But it was kinda funny after all just how I came to join this Yankee outfit,” admitted McGee. “How’s that?” “Back in the old States I used to be a little two-by-four newspaper man ’round New York—scribbled a few lines about murders, scandals, subway accidents, and wrote up a lot of stuff ’bout people who pulled wild stunts to get their names in print. Ever since I left my home down in Florida five years ago, after my folks all died and I was alone in this so-called cruel world, I had a hankering for adventure. Used to travel ’round quite a bit, and finally landed in New York as a cub reporter. Stayed there awhile and got so I could make my own livin’ as a newspaper man. Then the war started. “Naturally I wanted to go to France _toot sweet_. Always was kinda romantic—so much so till I thought seriously of goin’ into the movies once or twice—that along with the adventure-bug and natural-born desire to take a good crack at them dirty Heinies sent me up to a recruitin’-station to get some dope about joinin’ the army. “About that time I got a telegram to beat it for Providence. A friend of mine who was a captain in the Coast Artillery said that he had a good job in the army for me. I shot over to Providence and went down to the fort where the captain’s outfit was located. The job hadn’t come through when I arrived, so while waitin’ I became correspondent for _The Providence Journal_. “Three months passed and the job—I was to be sergeant-major of the post, with promise of an early commission—hadn’t materialized. I got mighty itchy to be a soldier. Folks used to look at me and wonder why I wasn’t wearin’ khaki instead of white flannels and silk shirts, so I thought, anyhow.