February 5, 1919

I was all settled when in came 3 noisy inmates of the room, and I could not write another word.

The Peace Conference which has been under way for about three weeks is only the preliminary. As yet it is not a conference with our late enemy. Its only accomplishments will be to achieve accord among the Allies, so that when the Germans come to the green table a definite program awaits them. Incidentally, the world’s history is being made down there at the Hotel Grillon. The real Peace Conference will doubtless take place not in Paris, but in Versailles, just outside. And today I heard that it is expected that peace will be signed by the middle of June. Five months would not be so bad, for a congress that must dispose of such weighty matters.

There is no outward sign, so far, that we are not to stay here until June; but I’m more or less on the inside. Things are moving there. I have hopes.

Ernie Schoedsack left yesterday for a discharge camp. He has enlisted for six months in the Red Cross, as camera man, and will get a fine salary. He hasn’t lived home for 5 years, is in no hurry to get back, in fact, would like to make a trip round the world before returning.

By the way he also was made a Sgt. 1^st class, and more than deserves it. Millard Huston is now an M.S. E. (one grade higher); he might have been a 2^nd Lt. but for the armistice. Van Duzer and Worry are corporals, and Geisel, Billy and Frank are privates 1^st class.

Jean Crunelle came back today from 6 weeks of touring France taking hospitals. Perfectly useless stuff. Had I told you he is a sergeant?

Remember Furst? Tall, lanky, glasses, always “picked up” a girl at Ft. Wood? On Dec. 28 he died in a hospital, of abscess on the brain. Proved the presence of a brain at any rate.

This week I have heard from Bert Webb and Clarence Elmer, and seen pictures of each. Both are in Germany with different divisions, and apparently well. Corporal (now) Sulzer is there too.

I had a fine time Sunday. Jones plays the flute, “Pep” the guitar. I the mandolin and Cesario talks Italian. We had two fine Italian meals, lots of music and some dancing. It lasted from 2 P.M. to midnight.

Since then I haven’t done much either by day or by night. I have lost most of my ambition. It seems to have oozed out into the mud and dampness of the Parisian winter. It is an awful effort to take my laundry around the corner.

Today I acquired a German Iron Cross. My only souvenir, and I don’t know what to do with it.

I want to go home; I don’t see any sense in staying here when it’s all over. I didn’t enlist to win medals and colonelcies for four-flushers. The thing’s over and we are worse than useless. Why can’t they send us back?

Today has been a pretty good day, for no particular reason, except that I had a good time. All day long we laughed and joked. Then came Nellie who took me to supper.

Now Billy’s fire is warm and bright, and it is still comfortable here. Of course I must stop and shave and then go to bed.

Next post February 8.