“Finally the job came through—I was to enlist on August eleventh. The night before I started down to Providence to see some friends and say _au revoir_. On the way I ran into a column of field artillery headed for a railroad station. “Where you fellows goin’?” I asked. “To France,” answered a little corporal. “To France,” says I to myself a couple of times, and I’m going to take a plush-lined job down at a Coast Artillery fort. Never do it. Sure enough two hours later, me, my white flannels, silk shirt, and dinky Panama was on board a flat ridin’ toward Boxford, Massachusetts. “That night I _cushayed_ on the ground with a horse-blanket for coverin’. Great God! Thought I’d freeze to death before the bugle blew to quit _cushayin’_. Next mornin’ I was sworn in. For three days I drilled, dressed up in my white pants and seashore outfit. They didn’t have a uniform big enough for me. Gee, it was funny for everybody but me. Finally I got a pair of breeches that wouldn’t split everytime I tried to get in ’em. “We got _beaucoup_ of that squad’s east and double-time stuff there. Then came an order for my battalion to _partee_ for Newport News, Virginia. “Down there they put us doin’ guard duty over a few miles of wild horses and hungry mules. Stayed there a month and a half. Then we got orders. That’s how I got in this man’s army,” concluded Jimmy. “Gee, you’re the most interesting fellow I ever met. Don’t quit now. How did you come across?” “One Saturday afternoon me, George Neil, and Sundberg was sittin’ in a theater watchin’ some guys fall in and out of stale slapstick stuff when a gink, the manager, I guess, blew out on the stage between acts and said that all men in the One Hundred and Third Field Artillery must report _toot sweet_ in front of the house.” _“Monsieur, voulez-vous coucher maintenant?_” (Will you sleep now?) interrupted the madame. _“Oui_,” replied Jimmy, making a move to get up. _“Peu importe! Restez donc près du feu!_” (It does not make any difference. Stay by the fire if you are not ready to go.) _“Merci, madame_,” and Jimmy sat down again. The old man was jerked out of his snoring slumber. With little less ado than to shake off his slippers and take off his coat the old fellow climbed into bed, pants, cap, and everything else on. His spouse went ahead with her preparations for sleep as if the two Americans had been miles away. “Just like these people. They don’t give a darn for any one,” explained Jimmy as he started to scratch around his neck and chest. “Damn these cooties, they always get restless when I stay near a hot fire long.” He pushed farther away from the fireplace and put a cigarette to his lips. “Go on, Jimmy, with your story. You were told to leave the house—and what then?” begged O. D. “Well, I reported in front of the theater and a sergeant grabs me and says, ‘Git in that truck and go to camp.’ ‘What the hell’s up?’ I asked. ‘Never mind, you’ll find out soon enough,’ snaps out the sergeant.