“Bonjour, O. D. How did you cushay?” was Jimmy McGee’s greeting to O. D. the next morning as he came out of a sound sleep.

“Great sleeping in these beds, Jimmy. Don’t know just how I’ll get out. Gee! I’m down about four feet.”

“Yep. You’ve got to be a regular three-ring circus acrobat to climb out of a French lee without hurtin’ yourself,” admitted Jimmy as he got a good hold on the side of the bed and pulled himself out.

O. D. followed his example, but experienced quite a lot of difficulty in doing so.

“I’ll ask madame to fix us up a little petit dayjunay of some kind before we hit the road again. Course a petit dayjunay ain’t any too much in a marchin’ man’s stomach. Means a bowl of café and a slice of bread. We may be lucky to-day and run across a truck-driver who’ll give us a lift. Them kind of guys are mighty scarce in this army. Frenchmen will give you a lift before an American. Unless, of course, he belongs to your division.”

While Jimmy was winding his last puttee on, the madame came in the room and asked him if he and his friend would eat. Jimmy told her oui and the woman clattered out to prepare the café.

“Now what do you think of café-ooo-lay, O. D.?” asked Jimmy as he raised his bowl to finish what was left.

“Trey—” O. D. stammered as if he had forgotten just what he intended to say.

“Trey-beans, you want to say. That means very good in French,” prompted Jimmy.

“Thanks. I’ll get it after a while, I guess. But say, is beans a French word, too?”

“No. Don’t believe it is. But sounds enough like French to use it O. K. The Frogs understand it all right. Well, we’ll get strapped up and on the way. Got to try and make the outfit to-day. There’s somethin’ up in our comin’ up here so sudden and we can’t afford to miss anythin’. Got a hunch, O. D., that the Boches is goin’ to get an awful beatin’ up in these parts. Heard Frenchmen say it wasn’t possible to drive the Germans out of the positions they’ve got ’round Verdun and St. Mihiel. Put a bunch of Americans in there. I’ll bet all the pay they owe me, and that’s three months now, that we’ll take Metz. Say, O. D., I ’ain’t got over four francs. How are you set on frankers?”

“I just got paid a few days ago. Let’s see,” said O. D., counting his money. “Oh, about sixty-five francs. How much do you want?”

“I’ll ask madame how much we owe,” answered Jimmy. “Madame, combien?”

The madame told him to wait a minute. She got an old pencil and a piece of paper and started figuring.

“It’s a fact, O. D., these Frogs can’t tell you how much a glass of van rouge costs without workin’ it out on paper. Ain’t it the limit. Look at her now.”

Finally the madame reached a conclusion of figures.

“Dix francs,” she told Jimmy.

“That’s ten francs or two dollars,” interpreted Jimmy to O. D.

O. D. gave her a ten-franc note without another word.

“That’s five francs I owe you, O. D. Keep ’count of that, will you?”

“Forget it, Jimmy. What I’ve got is yours. Compree?” asked O. D., showing the effect of association with McGee in his language.

“Gee! you’re gettin’ the stuff great. Well, we’re off. Bonjour, madame. Merci beaucoup,” said Jimmy, shaking hands with the madame. O. D. did the same and mumbled something that sounded like “Banjo.”

“Au revoir, messieurs,” responded the old woman.

Down the village street they ambled like a pair of old comrades.

Just as they were getting near the last house on the Grande Rue a couple of American soldiers came out of a barn door. Hay was sticking to their clothes and around their necks and heads. They approached Jimmy and O. D.

“What outfit, buddy?” asked the first one to Jimmy.

“Twenty-sixth division. Know where any of the Twenty-sixth is ’bout here?” was Jimmy’s question.

“You’re gang got a YD painted on all your stuff?”

“Oui,” answered Jimmy.

“Well, there was artillery passed through here yesterday noon—beaucoup of it—whole regiment about. Say have you seen anything of the Twenty-eighth Division? We got lost a few days ago. ’Ain’t been able to locate ’em yet.”

“No, can’t say I know where you’re outfit is. Which way did that artillery go?”

“Straight up the Verdun road toward Souilly. Find anything to monjay or drink here?” asked the Twenty-eighth Division man.

“Oui, got beaucoup pom du tear fritz, dey zerfs, and van rouge down the line there,” and Jimmy pointed out the house where he and O. D. had spent the night.

“Merci. Well, be good and take care. Just out of Chateau-Thierry, ain’t you?”

“Oui. So long, fellows!” answered Jimmy, and he and O. D. hiked on toward Verdun.

During the course of two kilometers three trucks passed the hikers. Chances of riding looked pas bons to them when another truck appeared on the crest of a high hill, making toward them.

“Maybe this guy’ll have a heart. We’ll stop here and look tired as hell,” said Jimmy, stopping on the roadside.

The truck came closer.

“Hell afire! Believe it’s a YD truck, O. D.”

“How ’bout a lift, buddy?” shouted Jimmy as the truck was almost up to them.

The driver slowed down and let them climb on.

“What outfit, buddy?” he asked Jimmy.

“One Hundred and Third Field Artillery, Jack.”

“Thought you looked like a YD man,” answered the driver as he changed gears.

They made about four kilometers when the driver complained of feeling hot. He stopped his truck and started taking off his leather jerkin. There was a Croix de Guerre pinned over his heart. O. D. saw it and his eyes bulged out.

“I see you’re a hero,” said O. D., pointing to the bronze medal attached to th............