This word super is getting its name in the papers every day in the week. The super-human effort required to keep things moving along toward the final triumph has needed just such expressive terms. It is a last word in inspiration—big, effective—over and beyond—and it fits the job we’re engaged in exactly from super-dreadnaught to super-abundance of will-power, mainstrength, and get there.

When our boys went over and lined up alongside their war-worn Allies, the whole situation changed. The pep and snap they brought along completely banished the waning spirit which, nevertheless, still held in check a relentless and overpowering foe. No tonic is there so productive of renewed energy as the entrance of a friend who quietly takes his place by one’s side.

To merely say that the boys in khaki have won the hearts of their comrades over there is inadequate. They have sealed a compact that is destined to shape the orderly course of the whole world for a century to come. Their induction was not of the “make way for the conquering heroes” kind. Nothing like that—more of the fashion of those who are tardy and quietly take the places reserved for them.

Once in the ranks, comradeship was a matter of course. No one could hold out against American good nature. No chance that these new soldiers ranging themselves alongside of veterans would resort to grandstand play. There would be no chasing after the medal. If it came, well and good, but the job in hand would be the first consideration—and in that respect the men of the Allied armies and navies are well met.

To my way of thinking the every-day athletic sports of the English-speaking races make for a gallant hardihood. No braver are they, but hardier perhaps, and more agile than their Latin brother-in-arms because of their all-of-the-year-round season of out-of-door recreation. Baseball, golf, hockey, polo, motor-boating, rowing, skiing, football, riding to hounds and what not, even down to the game of marbles, which, after all, is out-of-door exercise for the small boy.

Take football, for instance. If medals of honor were given out for daring physical action and bravery that occurs on the “grid-irons” of America, England, Canada and Australia each year even the Kaiser’s Iron Cross factory would be unable to supply the demand. In other words, out-of-door sports make for alertness of mind and body. In this respect they differ from the labor of the soil which, while hardening and muscle-making, is inspiriting from lack of competitive prowess with a goal in sight to work for.

It is fine to read about our boys over there. They have taken hold of their end of the big job without splurge or pompous bearing. They have aroused no jealousies, no heart-burnings through competitive ambitions—they go where sent. Their inborn initiative spurs them on to deeds that terminate to victories they least expect. It is not a part of their dispositions to “grab all” for honors. They will give rather than take from the credit of their comrades in arms. The old charge of American brag will fall of its own weight on the battlefields of France. To excel is an American trait no less and no more than their brothers in the field of action. One of the blessings that must surely follow in the wake of the great slaughter will be the common understanding that every Allied soldier did his duty like a man.

Since writing this chapter, I came across an editorial in the New York Evening Telegram, which backs up my theory exactly. It reads as follows:

“American soldiers and sailors have won the hearts of England and France. ‘I like their keenness,’ said a pain-racked British sergeant through his bandages. ‘It’s good to be fresh and alive to every little happening for you and your boys who can plunge into hades for the first time and keep their heads. You may be sure they will go a long way.’”

At Hamel, where the Americans went in with the Australians, Lucien and ’Arry and Paul and Tony and Pat and Izzy stood shoulder to shoulder, one loyally helping the other. The commander-in-chief of the Anzacs, Lieutenant-General Sir John Monash, is a Jew. Hovering over our fighters were an aviator from Fort Wayne, Ind.; one from New York and another from Nogales, Ariz.

Of a surety, as Kipling sang:—