“Damn, but we was sore—been thinkin’ ’bout that promised rest and paradin’ up and down Paree, you know, and we felt that they was rubbin’ it in, that’s all. They just hated to think that some guy was rubbin’ it in. We was National Guard Boy Scouts, some of ’em called us before the _guerre_. But they can take their funny names plumb to hell to-day. Like to know where this man’s army would be if it wasn’t for the National Guard. “Jerked us out of sleep ’bout midnight and unloaded the works at a joint called La Ferté—hiked thirteen kilofloppers to a town that I couldn’t call out loud if I wanted to. Have to think it when I want to remember anythin’ ’bout the place. They put us up in a big park. Spent the Fourth there. The villagers hung out _beaucoup_ flags, but I couldn’t recognize ’em, though a Frenchman pointed to some and said, ‘_Américain_.’ Had a party on the Fourth. _Beaucoup van rouge._ Some old champagne—and a _poulet_. Forgot to tell you ’bout _poulets_—they’re chickens—the eatin’ kind, you _savvy_? “Next day we got orders to haul it up to the front or pretty near it. We blew into a big _château_ grounds ’round early mornin’—everybody was so darn tired they _cushayed_ right off the bat without camouflaging the stuff. A nuisance by name of Boots Jenkins, who had been made a second looey when even corporals was hard to get, was the Officer of the Day. He didn’t come to until broad daylight and a bunch of Boche planes got hummin’ overhead. Boots tried to turn out the guard—and found out that he had forgot to put a guard on at all. ‘Some guy he was.’ Then he started wakin’ everybody up. ‘Get up, every mother’s son of you, move this picket-line and camouflage the wagons. Come on, shake it up,’ and he pulled the blankets off George Woods. ‘Git the hell out o’ here—I’m _cushayin’_,’ bawled Woods. ‘Don’t give a damn, get up,’ commanded Jenkins. ‘Ah, take a flop for yourself, I don’t belong to your gang. I’m a naval gunner on special duty.’ That’s what Boots got on every side. “After a long time he got the stable sergeant—some draggin’ kitchen police and old Bill Conway—wonderful crew for a detail. They moved every damn _cheval_ we had and threw bushes over the guns and wagons. The rest of us had dragged our blankets and stuff up to the top of a hill and _cushayed_ right on. “The outfits hid in that big woods until it got time for us to cross the Marne and relieve the Second Division. This happened ’bout July eleventh or so. We was all set for any trick that the Boches might be willin’ to try.