When new troops pass through town Max must always run to the door to cry “Bonjour les Américans!” a salutation which is often followed I fear by a request for cigarettes, for Max, baby that he is, enjoys a smoke, much to his grandparents’ amusement.
Among the china-ware at the Maison Chaput there is a funny little jug which the Gendarme and I use for fetching hot water. It is made in the shape of a fat frog with a blue waistcoat and a pipe in one of his webbed feet. I had thought it was the famous frog who would a-wooing go, but Monsieur has his own explanation. It is the original St. Thiebault toad he declares, to tease me. Every time I come to draw a little hot water from the stove he must crack the self-same joke.
“C’est le crapaud de Saint Thiebault,” he cries and baby Max pipes up; “Il a soif!”
Yesterday as I was passing through the front room on my way to the canteen Monsieur stopped me to draw me into conversation. There were several neighbors present. They gathered in a ring around me. I could see they had some weighty question to put to me. After a moment’s hesitation it came out:
“Pourquoi,” they demanded, “pourquoi, does the American soldier blow his nose with his fingers?”
I stared, taken aback. In order to make their meaning quite clear they illustrated with expressive gestures.
“Why,” I stammered, “does the poilu never do such a thing?”
“But never!” they declared in chorus. “The poilu always uses his handkerchief!” And again they illustrated in pantomime.
I labored to explain; the French climate had given the boys colds, and the question of laundry and clean handkerchiefs presented difficulties....
“But,” declared old Monsieur sagely, “in America I have heard it is the custom. There all the haut monde, it is said, lawyers, doctors, ministers, statesmen, blow their noses in that manner!”