I am ready to die with a smile on my lips and a great happiness in my heart, for I’ve spent one night between clean sheets, on a really soft bed. I’ve eaten with a silver knife and fork from real dishes and—whispered softly—in the privacy of my own home I had a glass of beer!

No, I wasn’t lucky (neither was Fat) but I think I put something over on Uncle Sam.

The passes for the city were drawn for as per schedule and since I was down at the bottom of the list I was not included in the first twenty-five per cent. The passes issued read for New York City, and the men holding them were privileged to leave by certain trains, being marched down to the station under the watchful eye of the Second Lieutenant.

Then, after these men were all away, came the opportunity for the men who lived near the camp and the men who wanted to visit nearby towns to apply for leave. This was my opportunity. I applied for thirty-six hours’ leave to visit the town of R——, twenty miles distant, and secured it.

Back in the barracks an interesting scene was taking place, scores of tickets of leave had been handed out to the men, to take the night and following day off, but to get out of camp they must be able to pass inspection with perfect and well-fitting equipment, and since all of us had not our full outfit, we had to hustle around and borrow articles of clothing that would fit and look satisfactory. I, for instance, have a full winter uniform except for overcoat (which I have not received) and tunic, the one I am wearing being a summer coat of cotton and hardly matching the wool trousers I possess. So I had to join the crowd who were bartering, exchanging and renting uniforms. And since the first men to leave had done the same thing to a certain extent, there was not much desirable clothing left in the barracks. Overcoats were going at a dollar a day and breeches and jackets for fifty cents each. After a diligent search I did find a chap who had a winter tunic and summer trousers and, wonder of wonders, his jacket fit me perfectly. We made an exchange and I borrowed an overcoat at one dollar for the day, from a chap who was not leaving camp, and sallied forth.

Tramping down Twenty-third Avenue (the streets are all named here and our barracks is on Fourteenth Street and Third Avenue), whom should I behold but friend Billy, bound in the same direction. He had had the same inspiration as I and he, too, had a pass for R——. We wandered on together, but upon reaching the railroad station, our hopes of getting to our destination were dashed. There were no more trains for R—— until the morning!

We wept. But our tears didn’t blind us to the fact that there were occasional machines passing along the highway. So we walked out and stood there in the moonlight and looked as lonesome and forlorn as possible.

And the first machine to come along was a beautiful big Pierce Arrow limousine, with an old dowager, a pleasant and generous old soul, its single occupant, save of course the chauffeur. We went to R—— in style; and, moreover, we went there in a hurry, for with khaki in the machine the chauffeur assumed that he had the right of way and full permission to wreck the speed laws.

At R—— we looked up time tables and discovered that we could get a train into the city at ten-thirty, which was not so bad. Then, because our passes really limited us to R——, we concluded that it was only fair to the Government to at least eat a meal in that town and since we were both hungry in spite of our recent mess, we searched for a restaurant.

We found one; a French restaurant, which looked peculiarly deserted. The door was locked, for some strange reason, yet there were several men in aprons inside apparently hard at work. We rattled on the door and in a moment the frowning proprietor came forward. But the frown changed to a smile when he saw us. It was the khaki. He unbolted the door and, with a ceremonious bow, welcomed us in, then closed the door and bolted it.

And then he explained that this was a new restaurant not yet opened for patronage. He expected to open up in a day or maybe two. But, of course, he could not turn away two hungry soldiers, never. Merci non! He had nothing to serve us with, but what were our desires? Express them and he would send out for the provisions, cook them and serve them. Steak! Indeed, yes. In twenty minutes we would have a wonderful steak, French fried potatoes, salad, coffee and ice cream. Jean would attend to it.

And Jean did. He rustled up the steak and the rest and we alone occupied the restaurant, and soon were eating the most delicious piece of beef we believed we had ever put our teeth through. The bill! Nothing; nothing at all—what?—well if we insist, one dollar each. Thank you! And now here is a pen and some ink. You will please autograph each bill and behold, when you return from glorious France, covered with glorious glory, you should come in and see these two bills—the first money taken in at the restaurant—framed and hanging there over the desk. And so, I suppose, the future generation of visitors to R—— will be able to view these immortal monuments to our—I don’t know what, unless it be our khaki uniforms—hanging there in the French restaurant possibly surrounded by wreaths as each anniversary of day before yesterday rolls ’round.

We got the ten-thirty train for the city, and we almost got into trouble too; or at least I did, for as we hurried into the smoker whom should I see sitting buried in a magazine but the First Lieutenant of our Company. Had he made the trip the same way we did? I don’t know and, of course, I didn’t ask. We just walked through the car very swiftly and he never looked up.

It was fifteen minutes of midnight when I arrived home, let myself in with my latch key which I have been carrying as a silent reminder of my former terrifically wild (?) career; routed out the folks, and sat swathed in bath-robe and dressing-gown until 3 o’clock, just talking. It was bully. And then I tumbled into my own bed and slept and slept and slept. I woke up at reveille all right—(it was just daylight)—grinned, rolled over and slept and slept and slept some more.

Then I had a real bath in a real tub with real hot water, and a lot of real things to eat and real cigars to smoke and real friends to talk with until five o’clock in the afternoon, when I crawled into my regimentals once more, and went out to meet Billy by appointment.

Going back via R—— route (which was necessary) curtailed our leave which really continues until to-morrow morning at reveille, but then we were very happy; so happy that when we arrived in R—— we chartered a taxi-cab for the twenty mile drive out here and now I’m nearly frozen through from the cold wind that blew in at us. And I’m tired, too, but I’m happy and ready to turn in ten minutes before taps.