Nearer and nearer we came to the open field, and by the same token,
quicker and nearer and hotter came the German shells. We were
continually on the duck. Our progress had an accordion rhythm that
made distance come slow. We came to a dead mule in the road. He
had been bombed recently, and was not ready for visitors. Now a
mule is not nature's masterpiece at his best; but in the transition
state between a mule and hamburger, a mule leaves much to be
desired. As we passed the forward reaches of the mule, Henry began
his kidding. He always begins to guy a situation under emotion.
"Bill," he cried, "if we die we'll at least save our nice new
hundred dollar uniforms down there in Paris!" And from me he got
this: "And say, Henry--if we die we won't have to face our wives
and tell 'em we paid that much for a two-piece suit! There's that
comfort in sudden death!"

It seemed to Henry and me that we had seen all there was to be seen
of the war. Hill 304 would be there after the treaty of peace was
signed and the Major and Norton then could come to see it. But
they were bound for Berlin; so we slowly edged by that poor mule;
he seemed to be the longest mule we had ever--well, he seemed to
be a sort of trans-continental mule, but we finally got past him
and came to the edge of the woods. It took about three ducks to
twenty yards, and passing the mule we had four downs and no gain.
That gave the Germans the ball. So when we got to the edge of the
wood and were standing looking into the French trenches and at Hill
304 off at our right, after the Major had handed Norton the field
glasses and Norton had considerately handed them to Henry, who passed
them to me for such fleeting glance as politeness might require,
the Germans came back with that ball. It came right out of Berlin,
too. One could hear it howl as it crossed the Thiergarten and went