October 16, 1918

How would you like to live in France?

You see it’s like this. If the war were to end tomorrow, if I were free at home six months later I could consider myself lucky. It has taken a long time to get all these men over here; they won’t move them back much faster. We’re likely to fool around over here either where we are, in camp or doing some reconstruction work. Then a terrible trip home, and more fooling around, until they feel like discharging us.

There is some talk about an enlistment for 6 months post-war service. Maybe it would be a good idea to take it. It might get me home just as soon and under better conditions than the regular course. Of course I don’t know anything about it yet. There is a lot to find out about it. For instance; How would you like to live in France?

Have I ever told you about the dugout? It is just below me, on the ground floor. It is the kind of place people just naturally find their way to. Four or five of the loudest, laziest, toughest, funniest birds in the bunch live there. The walls are plastered with clippings, pictures, cigarette boxes and other miscellaneous junk. There is a caricature of one of the lieutenants, which must please him a lot. Usually, by hook or crook, – the latter most likely – they have wood enough for a fire. It’s a good place to know.

Some of the most original and funny stories ever heard are related in the dugout, with marvelous profanity, verve and relish. The whole crowd is clever. Jack fits in there like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

Just now one of them has a comb and tissue paper, others have drum, bass drum and cymbals, and another is doing an oriental dance. The musical instruments, even the comb, were furnished by some of these soldiers’ welfare societies like the Red Cross, the Y, the K.C. or something. They are thicker than all-limbed Frenchmen.

It is “pas bon” around here to show lights after 10 P.M. So one of the dugout-and-outers has fixed up a contraption that can switch off the lights when the door opens and put them on again as it closes. That, and some black paper over the windows, allows them to sit up as long as they please. I remember one night when I lay in bed till 2:30 listening and laughing.

This is one of the so-called warm countries, but it must be an off-year. It is raw, rainy and penetrating every day. So far it hasn’t been really cold.

I have been home nights for about a week, but I can’t say I’ve accomplished much. Usually I have been in bed about 10 o’clock.

From now on you will probably see more of our pictures in the papers, as we have made a change in the distribution, which will get them to New York faster and more directly. That will be some satisfaction. I wonder if you could mail me these Sunday pictorial sections you get with the Times, Sun or whatever paper you have. I’d like to follow them.

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