“Don’t see how you stand this life without letters.” “Comes tough at times, ’specially when the other guys gets _beaucoup_ letters. Kinda feel like a nobody. But generally somethin’ turns up—we start drivin’—or the Boches get some guts and throw a few over. Then there ain’t much chance to think about such things.” Jimmy spoke as if a few letters could do a great deal toward winning wars. “By George, I’m goin’ to get Mary to write to you right—— How do you say it in French, Jimmy?” “_Toot sweet_,” prompted the Yank, with new hope in his tones. “Well, I’ll have Mary write you _toot sweet_, then—that is, if you want me to.” “Want you to—— Whew, boy, that’ll save my life. Will you?” he asked, eagerly. “Sure,” assured O. D. CHAPTER V—WE WAS OFF FOR THE FRONT! Before he had joined the army and been through a lot of front-line stuff Jimmy McGee thought that it was mighty romantic to wear a uniform and carry a gun off to war. But somebody spilled the beans for him pretty soon. Jimmy couldn’t find any romance in the mud and rain when his chief ration was black coffee, canned beef, and hardtack. When O. D. said that he would have Mary write to him something stirred ’way down in him that hadn’t stirred since he had quit thinking about war as a romantic expedition, and Jimmy was pretty sure that the romance stuff was coming back to life again. “Wonder if Mary would want a souvenir of this _guerre_?” asked Jimmy, thoughtfully. “I know she would, because before I left she made me promise to bring back a German helmet or something from the battles. But of course I haven’t been near a fight yet,” answered O. D. “Mary gets the helmet that I took from that Boche major, and _toot sweet_, you can bet on that,” declared McGee. “But you’ll want to keep the helmet yourself, Jimmy.” “Hell afire, the helmet’s Mary’s. There’s no use waitin’ until the _guerre_ is _finee_ before I give it to her, is there?” blurted out Jimmy, confusedly. “No—guess not. Send it to her, then. Mary’ll be tickled to death with it and to know that it comes from a real soldier who’s been wounded. But go on with what you were tellin’ me. When did you get sent up to the front?” “Arrh, we hung ’round Coetquidan until ’bout February first, then we got orders to _partee_. We was darn sure that we was goin’ to the front, but didn’t have no idea what part of it. Anyhow, if you had told us we wouldn’t have known any better, as we never paid any particular attention to any special fronts. All we knew was that the front was the front.