uncompromising antagonism to the cigarette.

But the last time I heard of him he was in a front-line dugout. This
was near Château-Thierry. The boys were coming and going from that
awful fight. Men would come in one day and be dead the next. He had
been with them for months, and they had come to love him in spite of
his fighting their favorite pastime. They knew him for his
uncompromising antagonism to cigarettes. They loved him none the less
for that because he did not flinch. Neither was he narrow about
selling them. He sold them because it was his duty, but he hated them.

Then for three days in the midst of the Château-Thierry fighting the
matches played out. Not a match was to be had for three days. The
boys were frantic for their smokes, for the nervous strain was greater
than anything they had suffered in their lives. The shelling was
awful. The noise never ceased. Machine-gun fire and bombing by planes
at night kept up every hour. They saw lifelong friends fall by their
sides every hour of the day and night. They needed the solace of their
smokes.

Their secretary found two matches in his bag. He lit a cigarette for a
boy, and the match was gone. Then he used the other one. Then he did
a magnificent piece of service for which his name shall go down forever
in the memory of those lads. Forever shall he hold their affections in
the hollow of his hands. He proved to those boys that his sense of
service was greater than his prejudices. He kept three cigarettes
going for two days and two nights on the canteen beside him, smoking
them himself in order that that crowd of boys, coming and going into
the battle, in and out of the underground dugout, might have a light
for the cigarettes during the few moments of respite that they had from