BISHOP BRENT, _Senior Chaplain, A.E.F_.
Paris, March, 1919.

On a midsummer morning in 1918, ambulance after ambulance unloaded its
cargo of wounded humanity at a base hospital in Paris. The wounded
were being conveyed rapidly from the front and the entire hospital was
astir with nurses, surgeons, and orderlies. A major, surgeon, almost
staggered out of an operating room where he had been on duty for
twenty-two hours and started for his quarters when a colonel arrived
on an inspection trip.

"Pretty busy," remarked the colonel as he acknowledged the major's
salute.

"Busy? Busy!" replied the major. "Good Lord, the only people about
here that aren't busy are the dead ones. Even the wounded are busy
planning to hobble around at conventions when the Big Show is over.
Already they are talking about how they intend to take a hand in
things after the war when they get home."

Over across the street a sergeant, limping slightly, stopped under a
shade tree and leaned against it to rest. He was almost well of his
wound and eagerly awaited the word that would send him to join his
regiment, the Twenty-sixth United States Infantry. As he paused under
the tree another soldier with a mending wound in the knee and just
able to be about stopped to speak to him. The sergeant's hand rose in
quick salute for the newcomer was an officer.

"Expect to get back soon, sergeant?" said the officer.