Behind the lines, when we go back for a rest and are in billets, we are
supplied with well-cooked and comfortable meals. Three good squares a day.
We have here our field kitchens and our regular cooks, and Mulligan (stew)
is not the daily portion, but variations of roast beef, mutton and so
forth.

It is good food, and I have heard men exclaim that it was better than
anything they had had at home. After investigation I usually found that the
men who dilated thus on the gastronomic delights of billets were married
men!

The authorities are just as careful about sending up a soldier's letters,
his parcels and small gifts from home, as they are about the food and
clothing supplies. They recognize that Tommy Atkins naturally and rightly
wants to keep in touch with the home folks, and every effort is made to get
communications up on time. But war is war, and there are days and even
weeks when no letters reach the front line. Those are the days that try the
mettle of the men. We do not tell our thoughts to one another. The soldier
of to-day is rough of exterior, rough of speech and rough of bearing, but
underneath he has a heart of gold and a spirit of untold gentleness.

We play poker, and we play with the sky the limit. Why not? Active service
allowance is thirty francs a month--five dollars. Why put on any limit? You
may owe a man a hundred, or even two hundred dollars, but what's the
difference?--a shell may put an end to you, him and the poker board any old
minute. There is no knowing.

Weeks pass and no letters. We play more wildly, squatting down in the mud
with the board before us. I have sometimes seen a full house, a straight,