“Yes; but the funny thing is that I’m an infantryman—that is, they trained me in that kind of stuff. I never was on a horse in my life. Never saw a real cannon, either,” answered O. D. “Can that stuff. You don’t need to know anythin’ about ridin’ a horse in this man’s army. I joined the artillery to keep from walkin’ and I’ve been walkin’ most of the time since I enlisted. We never saw a cannon, except those pea-shooters we had back in the States, until we hit France. Just goes to show how this army’s bein’ run. They send you up to the artillery and you were trained for infantry. Soon they’ll be sendin’ up submarine-chasers for caissons,” declared McGee. “Say, Jimmy, wish you’d tell me something about the front, so I’ll know how to act when I get there,” pleaded O. D. “Ah, forget that front idea. You’ll never know the difference—unless, of course, you get a fistfull of shrapnel in the face or a bellyful of gas. Course, that makes it different.” “Shrapnel! Gas! Gee, those are bad actors up there, I heard. Is it raining shrapnel all the time, and does the gas come over every day, or what?” asked O. D. kind of hopelessly. “No, it ain’t nothin’ like that, O. D. There ain’t no flags flyin’ or music playin’ when the boys go over the top, either. You’re liable to get a down-pour of shrapnel, a shell-burst, or a bunch of gas any old time. There’s no set rules for the way that stuff comes over—sorta like goin’ to business every day after you get used to it. A man gets accustomed to stayin’ up all night and jugglin’ ninety-five pound shells, firin’ a piece, or rammin’ bayonets in Boche pigs. The hunger and cold is about the worst thing. You’ll drift into the stuff easy enough,” consoled the Yank. “Some time, when you get a chance, will you tell me about some of your experiences in the war?” “_Oui_—when I get time, some day,” promised Jimmy. “Well, are you set for another little hike? Guess it’s about three bells. We can make ’bout seven kilometers before dark and we’ll look for a _chambre_—that’s a room in French; then we’ll _monjay_ and _cushay_. It’ll never do to hit a town after dark. You’re out of luck in this country to find a room or anything once the sun goes down. They never make a light on account of Boche planes. Might as well be in a barren desert as get into a French town after nightfall.” “I’m ready,” answered O. D., buckling up his harness and rising. “It takes me quite a bit of time to get all of this junk on me,” apologized McGee, as he began throwing _musettes_ over his shoulders and buckling on belts and other stuff. O. D. gave him a hand and pretty soon Jimmy McGee was once more arrayed in all the glory of a front-line veteran. “Guess we’ll hang onto this hunk of _du pan_. It’s mighty hard to get bread in these French places,” said McGee, falling into the old stride that he patronized when on the stem in France. CHAPTER II—“AVEY VOUS DE CHAMBRE?”