with 'em. If I could rent out the extra room, I could buy "makins"
for a month. They call 'em fatigue uniforms, and believe you me they
called 'em right--one look at 'em makes you tired. The only things
that fit are the hat cord and collar ornaments.

You know how it is with me Julie nothing ready made fits me but a
hanky.

After studying the directions, I managed to make 'em hang on me. I was
so interested in 'em that on my way over to the barracks, I failed
to salute a major who passed; he grabbed me amid ships with one hand
and pointed to his shoulder with the other; my mind bein on clothing
scenery instead of salutin, I piped up, You got no kick comin, look
what they handed me.

Me and Skinny Shaner got on the outside of about a ½ dozen pickled
pigs feet last night at the canteen and finished off with about a
quart of ice-cream apeace. Along about a hour or so afterwards during
the mixing process, I guess the pigs feet got cold in the ice cream
and commenced to kick. Skinny was doubled up so he looked like a horse
shoe bend on a scenic railroad. I suggested that we each take a dose
of Allen's Foot Ease, as I heard that helped sore feet, but Skinny
balked; he always was stubborn like that. Finally, we sent in a three
alarm for a doc.

[Illustration: "You got no kick comin'--look what they handed me."]

He asked us what we'd been eatin; we couldn't give up anything,
otherwise we'd have "give up" the pigs-feet, so the Doc. Allowed we
had the appende-come-and-get-me. That's about as near to the truth as