“Talkin’ about the gas stuff reminds me of what happened to Bill Conway. Bill was an old regular, been in the service eighteen years, soldiered every place the American flag ever flew and told us that gas, bombs, and shrapnel all tied up in one bag couldn’t made him budge. We knew Bill pretty well and if there was anything that had him licked it was gas. He used to go to sleep with his mask on sometimes. Well, Jimmy Leach and a few of us decided to get Bill one night, so we hid his old gas-mask and when he got in the dug-out somebody beat on a tin can and bawled out, ‘Gas—gas!’ “Say, you would have died laughin’ at old Bill. He jumps for his mask. Nothin’ doin’. He tried to take Jimmy Leach’s, but couldn’t. Everybody had piled into the bunks and pulled blankets over their heads. Some of ’em began groanin’ and coughin’. ‘Oh, my God, I’m gassed, I’m gassed!’ yelled Bill, and he dived under a pile of his own blankets. ‘So am I,’ shouted Leach, comin’ up for air. The rest of us all threw the blankets back and began smokin’. Finally, after ’bout half an hour, and he nearly suffocated, Bill stuck his head out and saw us and that there wasn’t any gas. Maybe he didn’t cuss us out! Said we were tin soldiers and belonged to a tin army. Some day if I ever get back to my old newspaper job and a typewriter I’m goin’ to write a book about Bill Conway and call it _Tin Sojers_.” CHAPTER VI—AMERICAN JOANS OF ARC “A month and a half was long enough for us on the Cheman de Damns front. We _parteed_ ’bout March fifteenth or so and got on another one of them funny little trains—didn’t stay on long—only ’bout fifteen hours. “Detrained at Château-Brienne and started hiking over the road to our rest-camp. We was due for a rest, also furloughs. But I ain’t seen neither of them things so far. That country down there sure was the darb for us. It was just turnin’ off kind of spring-like and warm, too. We were the first Americans to go through that section, and the people—honest, O. D., they must have thought that we were American Joans of Arc. Everybody came rushin’ to the doors and waved to us. The mademoiselles threw us kisses by the bushel. I got so excited that I muffed most of ’em that came my way. “After bein’ up in that mud-coated front country where you hardly ever saw human bein’s, just soldiers, and where all of the houses had holes in ’em and the gardens were all torn up by shells, it was great to get back where the fields was green and people smiled and said nice things. I was gettin’ to this French stuff ’bout that time and I could _compree_ a little of what they said.