find a place to sleep in an old ruin half full of rainwater. The
dry places were piled up with brick and mortar, but we managed to
clean up some half-sheltered spots for "kip" and we lived through
it.

The worst feature of these billets was the rats. They were the
biggest I ever saw, great, filthy, evil-smelling, grayish-red
fellows, as big as a good-sized cat. They would hop out of the
walls and scuttle across your face with their wet, cold feet, and
it was enough to drive you insane. One chap in our party had a
natural horror of rats, and he nearly went crazy. We had to "kip"
with our greatcoats pulled up over our heads, and then the beggars
would go down and nibble at our boots.

The first day somebody found a fox terrier, evidently lost and
probably the pet of some officer. We weren't allowed to carry
mascots, although we had a kitten that we smuggled along for a long
time. This terrier was a well-bred little fellow, and we grabbed
him. We spent a good part of both mornings digging out rats for him
and staged some of the grandest fights ever.

Most of the day we spent at a little _estaminet_ across the way
from our so-called billets. There was a pretty mademoiselle there
who served the rotten French beer and _vin blanc_, and the Tommies
tried their French on her. They might as well have talked Choctaw.
I speak the language a little and tried to monopolize the lady, and
did, which didn't increase my popularity any.

"I say, Yank," some one would call, "don't be a blinkin' 'og. Give
somebody else a chawnce."