“Gee! you’re gettin’ the stuff great. Well, we’re off. _Bonjour, madame. Merci beaucoup_,” said Jimmy, shaking hands with the madame. O. D. did the same and mumbled something that sounded like “_Banjo_.” “_Au revoir, messieurs_,” responded the old woman. Down the village street they ambled like a pair of old comrades. Just as they were getting near the last house on the _Grande Rue_ a couple of American soldiers came out of a barn door. Hay was sticking to their clothes and around their necks and heads. They approached Jimmy and O. D. “What outfit, buddy?” asked the first one to Jimmy. “Twenty-sixth division. Know where any of the Twenty-sixth is ’bout here?” was Jimmy’s question. “You’re gang got a YD painted on all your stuff?” “_Oui_,” answered Jimmy. “Well, there was artillery passed through here yesterday noon—_beaucoup_ of it—whole regiment about. Say have you seen anything of the Twenty-eighth Division? We got lost a few days ago. ’Ain’t been able to locate ’em yet.” “No, can’t say I know where your outfit is. Which way did that artillery go?” “Straight up the Verdun road toward Souilly. Find anything to _monjay_ or drink here?” asked the Twenty-eighth Division man. “_Oui_, got _beaucoup pom du tear fritz, dey zerfs_, and _van rouge_ down the line there,” and Jimmy pointed out the house where he and O. D. had spent the night. “_Merci._ Well, be good and take care. Just out of Château-Thierry, ain’t you?” “_Oui._ So long, fellows!” answered Jimmy, and he and O. D. hiked on toward Verdun. During the course of two kilometers three trucks passed the hikers. Chances of riding looked _pas bons_ to them when another truck appeared on the crest of a high hill, making toward them. “Maybe this guy’ll have a heart. We’ll stop here and look tired as hell,” said Jimmy, stopping on the roadside. The truck came closer. “Hell afire! Believe it’s a YD truck, O. D.” “How ’bout a lift, buddy?” shouted Jimmy as the truck was almost up to them. The driver slowed down and let them climb on. “What outfit, buddy?” he asked Jimmy. “One Hundred and Third Field Artillery, Jack.” “Thought you looked like a YD man,” answered the driver as he changed gears. They made about four kilometers when the driver complained of feeling hot. He stopped his truck and started taking off his leather jerkin. There was a Croix de Guerre pinned over his heart. O. D. saw it and his eyes bulged out. “I see you’re a hero,” said O. D., pointing to the bronze medal attached to the green ribbon. “Hero, hell!” exclaimed the driver. “Anybody can get one of these things. The Frogs wear ’em as souvenirs of the _guerre_. You can buy a dozen for a few francs. I was lucky enough to have this one given to me,” he explained. “What did you do, swipe a bag of white sugar and give it to some French general?” asked Jimmy.