dollars. "I hope you will try to avenge the Lusitania," it said among
other things. The letter was signed by a woman.

"Do you speak French?" I asked.

"Not a word," he replied. "I want to be put with the Americans or the
Swedes. I speak good Swedish."

Months later, on furlough, I saw in a hospital at Lyons a college
classmate who had served in the Foreign Legion. "Did you know a fellow
named Petersen?" I asked.

"Yes, I knew him," answered my friend; "he lifted a fifty-franc note
from me and got killed before I could get it back."

"How did it happen?"

"Went through my pockets, I imagine."

"Oh, no, I meant how did he get killed?" "Stray shell sailed in as we
were going through a village, and caught him and two of the other boys."

"You must not make your friend talk too much," mumbled an old Sister of
Charity rather crossly.

The two young men with the same identical oddity of gait were salesmen
of artificial legs, each one a wearer and demonstrator of his wares. The
first, from Ohio, had lost his leg in a railroad accident two years
before, and the second, a Virginian with a strong accent, had been done
for in a motor-car smashup. One morning the man from Ohio gave us a kind