July 20, 1918

Did you ever get my letter telling of the old Frenchman, his wife and daughter whom I met at our first stop while we were guarding baggage? Well they live not far from here and one evening was spent with them. Will Kelly and Joe were with me. It was funny. They have an archaic auto which they showed us, but which they cannot use because pleasure cars unless in war work are passés in this part of the world. Monsieur is a Health inspector and has his little place, too small for a garage – his car is at a neighbor’s. The rooms are small and stuffy, overcrowded with gimcracks, odors and people. It is like the ever-darkened “best rooms” of a mid-victorian American cottage. They dragged out some atrocious red wine, and some cider disguised with water and lithia powders. Then some girl sang a few, topped by “La Madelon” a military and popular song that is really good.

Then Monsieur played his accordion after which I was ready to go away from there. We did. But not without a promise to him that we’d come some day and use his camera a lot. So look out for pictures. Mlle. Gabrielle seems much taken with Joe’s handsome clean-cut American features, despite the fact that he was born in Poland. We’re going out again some night.

Then I spent two evenings with Frank Philips and two girls who are nurses in a children’s hospital. One gets sentimental at about 10:30, when I am much amused and laugh at her. The other is nice; neither is good-looking. They’ve been to the front, are interesting and good practice because they talk an awful lot of French.

The other nights I don’t seem to remember, but I have no recollection of having done much with them, except sleep. I think I deserved that sleep because I’ve worked hard during the day. That I like it you already know.

By the way, I suppose you wonder how we meet these people – these girls. It’s easy; they pick one up. They’re all respectable, I suppose, but not fussy about such things, since the war has brought so many soldiers to France.

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