very worst time of the day. The roads so near the front were
pulverized, and the dust rose in dense clouds. The long straight
lines of poplars beside the road were gray with it, and the heat
waves shimmered up from the fields.

Before we had gone five miles the men began to wilt. Right away I
had some more of the joys of being a corporal brought home to me.
I was already touched with trench fever and was away under par.
That didn't make any difference.

On the march, when the men begin to weaken, an officer is sure to
trot up and say:

"Corporal Holmes, just carry this man's rifle," or "Corporal
Collins, take that man's pack. He's jolly well done."

Seemingly the corporal never is supposed to be jolly well done. If
one complained, his officer would look at him with astounded
reproach and say:

"Why, Corporal. We cawn't have this, you know! You are a
Non-commissioned Officer, and you must set an example. You must,
rahly."

When we finally hit the town where our billets were, we found our
company quartered in an old barn. It was dirty, and there was a
pigpen at one end,--very smelly in the August heat. We flopped in
the ancient filth. The cooties were very active, as we were
drenched with sweat and hadn't had a bath since heavens knew when.
We had had about ten minutes' rest and were thinking about getting