Medill and Henry went to another lookout, leaving me with the Italian
soldiers in the trench. Their luncheon came up, a fine rich soup,
with bread cubes in it, some potatoes and vegetables. It looked
palatable and was good. There was enough, but not plenty. As we
sat in the trench waiting for Henry and Medill, one of the heroes
beside me, after thinking it all out carefully, burst forth with
this:

"I livea in Pittsburgh."

It was plain to his comrades that he had put his meaning through
to me. They clearly were impressed by his prowess. This cheered
him up. He went on to further linguistic feats.

"Is, I live-a there five year."

That also got over and his comrades realized that he was a polyglot.
Then in a joyous spirit of over-confidence, he waved the oriflamme
of speech in our faces.

"Is, my papa he live-a in Brooklyn. He keepa da butcha shop and
is maka da roast bif. Is, my papa's brodder he live-a in Brooklyn
too. He keepa da saloon and is maka da jag!" Then we shook hands
as fellow Americans.

In another hour we had wormed our way through the tunnels to the
other side of the peak, and had scrambled down the mountainside
to the general headquarters. Never since Hannibal's day were more
interesting brigade headquarters established. They were niched