“It ain’t the country, it’s the people in it,” asserted another lad darkly.
While the Tall Kentuckian declared, “When I came to France, the height of my ambition was to kill a German. Now the height of my ambition is to kill a Frenchman.”
What can one say to them? I try fatuously to comfort by reminding them of the good time coming when we all get home again. I paint rosy pictures of a grand parade of the division up Fifth Avenue, but they are sceptical.
“Huh! That won’t be for us! All the fuss will be for the National Guard and the draft guys. The reg’lars don’t never get no credit.”
Then someone will start to hum the song which goes;
“O why didn’t I wait to be drafted?
Why didn’t I wait to be cheered?”
“Well I’ll tell the world that you deserve the credit!”
Anyway Company A has settled one point: if they ever march up Fifth Avenue I am to march with them.
Bourmont, January 11.