“No,” answered Jimmy at last, “sister, compree? Sœur to comrade,” pointing to O. D., who nodded his head in affirmation.
The snap of Mary taken on the beach fascinated Jimmy. He decided it should belong to him. When O. D. was not watching, the Yank who never let Boche shells or gas worry him swept the picture under his blouse with a strange feeling of unrest running through his body and soul.
CHAPTER III—“THAT MULE WAS A SLACKER”
“Jimmy, tell me how you happened to get in the army?” asked O. D.
“Well, time the guerre started I meant to enlist. But it was kinda funny after all just how I came to join this Yankee outfit,” admitted McGee.
“How’s that?”
“Back in the old States I used to be a little two-by-four newspaper man ’round New York—scribbled a few lines about murders, scandals, subway accidents, and wrote up a lot of stuff ’bout people who pulled wild stunts to get their names in print. Ever since I left my home down in Florida five years ago, after my folks all died and I was alone in this so-called cruel world, I had a hankering for adventure. Used to travel ’round quite a bit, and finally landed in New York as a cub reporter. Stayed there awhile and got so I could make my own livin’ as a newspaper man. Then the war started.
“Naturally I wanted to go to France toot sweet. Always was kinda romantic—so much so till I thought seriously of goin’ into the movies once or twice—that along with the adventure-bug and natural-born desire to take a good crack at them dirty Heinies sent me up to a recruitin’-station to get some dope about joinin’ the army.
“About that time I got a telegram to beat it for Providence. A friend of mine who was a captain in the Coast Artillery said that he had a good job in the army for me. I shot over to Providence and went down to the fort where the captain’s outfit was located. The job hadn’t come through when I arrived, so while waitin’ I became correspondent for The Providence Journal.
“Three months passed and the job—I was to be sergeant-major of the post, with promise of an early commission—hadn’t materialized. I got mighty itchy to be a soldier. Folks used to look at me and wonder why I wasn’t wearin’ khaki instead of white flannels and silk shirts, so I thought, anyhow.