which is found on the battle-fields of Europe to-day. There we men are
finding ourselves in that we are finding true sympathy with our brother
man. We have everything in common. We have the hardship of the trench, and
the nearness of death. The man of title, the Bachelor of Arts, the
bootblack, the lumberjack and the millionaire's son meet on common ground.
We wear the same uniform, we think the same thoughts, we do not remember
what we were, we only know what we are--soldiers fighting in the same great
cause.




CHAPTER IX

ALL FUSSED UP AND NO PLACE TO GO


Some days in the trenches are dreariness itself. Sometimes we get
discouraged to the point of exhaustion, but these days are rare and when
they do occur there is always an alleviation. In every trench, in every
section, there is some one who is a joker; who is a true humorist, and who
can carry the spirits of the troops with him to the place where grim
reality vanishes and troubles are forgotten.

The nights pass quickly enough because at night we have plenty to do. But
even while carrying out duties at night many humorous things happen. Take,
for instance, the passing of messages up and down the line.

To the civilian message-sending might appear much the same day or night,
but not so. In the day we can speak without fear of being overheard, but at