the camel, the camel expects to be compensated. Anyway, I was on that
boat-train when it pulled out of London.

I was in uniform when I arrived in New York, for I didn't possess any
mufti. You can't guess what a difference that made to one's
home-coming--not the being in uniform, but the knowing that it wasn't
an offence to wear it. On my last leave, some time ago before I went
overseas, if I'd tried to cross the border from Canada in uniform I'd
have been turned back; if by any chance I'd got across and worn
regimentals I'd have been arrested by the first Irish policeman. A
place isn't home where you get turned back or locked up for wearing
the things of which you're proudest. If America hadn't come into the
war none of us who have loved her and since been to the trenches,
would ever have wanted to return.

But she's home now as she never was before and never could have been
under any other circumstances--now that khaki strides unabashed down
Broadway and the skirl of the pipers has been heard on Fifth
Avenue. We men "over there" will have to find a new name for
America. It won't be exactly Blighty, but a kind of very wealthy first
cousin to Blighty--a word meaning something generous and affectionate
and steam-heated, waiting for us on the other side of the Atlantic.

Two weeks here already--two weeks more to go; then back to the glory
of the trenches!

There's one person I've missed since my return to New York. I've
caught glimpses of him disappearing around corners, but he dodges. I
think he's a bit ashamed to meet me. That person is my old civilian
self. What a full-blown egoist he used to be! How full of golden plans