The day when we no longer blister our heels, But know how a ride in the old subway feels! The day that we no longer parlez Français, But speak once again in the good old home way! Keep running, Fritz, as you’re now on the run, And before very long you will be a licked Hun, With “Der Tag” that you toasted time-worn and passé, While we drink triumphantly: Here’s to Our Day! HOWARD J. GREEN, Corp., Inf. THERE’S ABOUT TWO MILLION FELLOWS— There’s about two million fellows from the North, South, East and West Who scurried up the gang plank of a ship; They have felt the guy ropes paying and the troopship gently swaying As it started on its journey from the country of the blest. They have washed in hard salt water, bucked the Army transport grub, Had a hitch of crow’s nest duty on the way; Strained their eyes mistaking white caps for a humpback Prussian sub Just at twilight when “the danger’s great, they say.” When their ship had lost the convoy they were worried just a bit, And rather thought the skipper should be canned; And the sigh of heartfelt feeling almost set the boat to reeling When each of those two million sighted land. There’s about two million fellows that have landed here in France, They’re scattered God and G.H.Q. know where; By the cranes where steamers anchor, schooner, tramp, or greasy tanker, There’s an O.D. outfit waiting just to make the cargo dance. They are chopping in the forest, double-timing on the roads, Putting two-ways where a single went before; In the cabs of sweating engines, pushing, pulling double loads When the R.T.O.’s in frenzied tones implore. For it’s duty, solid duty with the hustling men behind, From the P. of E.’s on up to No Man’s Land; And there’s never chance of shirking when the boys up front are working— Night and day must go the answer to the front line’s stern demand. There’s about two million fellows and there’s some of them who lie Where eighty-eights and G.I.’s gently drop; Where the trucks and trains are jamming and the colonel he is damning Half the earth and in particular the Service of Supply. They have had a stretch of trenches, beat the Prussian at his best, Seen their buddies fall like heroes right beside; But—there’s nigh two million fellows from the country of the blest Who know the cause for which their comrades died, Who have crossed the sluggish shallows where their little life streams ran And broadened just a trifle, you will find; And their vision’s cleaner, clearer and they hold just that much dearer The great and glorious land they left behind! ALBERT J. COOK, Sgt., Hq. Detch.,—Army Corps. [Illustration: C. LeRoy Baldridge Pvt A E F Audenarde Belgium Nov. 11/1918] NOVEMBER ELEVENTH