Each day the other
fellow's artillery tries to lay down a fire which will keep these boys
from getting back. They travel to where their supply company has dumped
the food from mule carts--the point nearest front where creaking wheels
may go. The man in the center is carrying a string of French loaves, the
round black variety common before we got our own bakeries started.
[Illustration: The Headquarters Company...taking
its bath...]
The Headquarters Company of the Reserve Mallet taking its bath at
Chavigeny Farm. The tub is a tin-lined cigarette box used by the
Y.M.C.A. Water is heated in the old farm fire-place.
"PREPARE FOR ACTION"
I ran into Johnny Redlegs
A-sitting on his bus,
And I asked him why the devil
He dropped half his shells on us.
He just smiles and puffs his corn-cob,
As peaceful as a Persian,
And, "Buddy," says he, "you can't blame me,
You gotta blame dispersion."
I says to Johnny Redlegs,
"If I didn't have nine lives
Your barrage would have got me
With those lousy seventy-fives."
He grins and puffs his corn-cob,
And then he winks, reflective,
And, "Buddy," says he, "you can't blame me
If you pass your damn objective."
I says to Johnny Redlegs
(Just kidding him, you know),
"The trouble with your popgun is
She pops too gol-darned slow."
Then Redlegs drops his corn-cob
And spits on both his han's,
And, "Buddy," says he, "you can kid with me
And the whole damned Field Artilleree,
But there'll be a dud where you used to be
If you kid my swasont-cans!"
[Illustration: "I know a girl at home who looks just like you.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25