"Mother," I replied firmly, "I have decided to decline all social
engagements during my first few weeks in camp. You can send the pumps
when I write for them."

A card came to-day ordering me to report on March 1st. Consequently I
am not quite myself.


_Feb. 27th._ Mother hurried into my room this morning and started to
pack my trunk. She had gotten five sweaters, three helmets and two
dozen pairs of socks into it before I could stop her. When I explained
to her that I wasn't going to take a trunk she almost broke down.

"But at least," she said, brightening up, "I can go along with you and
see that you are nice and comfortable in your room."

"You seem to think that I am going to some swell boarding school,
mother," I replied from the bed. "You see, we don't have rooms to
ourselves. I understand that we sleep in bays."

"Don't jest," cried mother. "It's too horrible!"

Then I explained to her that a bay was a compartment of a barracks in
which eight human beings and one petty officer, not quite so human,
were supposed to dwell in intimacy and, as far as possible, concord.

This distressed poor mother dreadfully. "But what are you going to
take?" she cried.

"I'm going to take a nap," said I, turning over on my pillow. "It will