“Bonjour, O. D. How did you cushay?” was Jimmy McGee’s greeting to O. D. the next morning as he came out of a sound sleep.
“Great sleeping in these beds, Jimmy. Don’t know just how I’ll get out. Gee! I’m down about four feet.”
“Yep. You’ve got to be a regular three-ring circus acrobat to climb out of a French lee without hurtin’ yourself,” admitted Jimmy as he got a good hold on the side of the bed and pulled himself out.
O. D. followed his example, but experienced quite a lot of difficulty in doing so.
“I’ll ask madame to fix us up a little petit dayjunay of some kind before we hit the road again. Course a petit dayjunay ain’t any too much in a marchin’ man’s stomach. Means a bowl of café and a slice of bread. We may be lucky to-day and run across a truck-driver who’ll give us a lift. Them kind of guys are mighty scarce in this army. Frenchmen will give you a lift before an American. Unless, of course, he belongs to your division.”
While Jimmy was winding his last puttee on, the madame came in the room and asked him if he and his friend would eat. Jimmy told her oui and the woman clattered out to prepare the café.
“Now what do you think of café-ooo-lay, O. D.?” asked Jimmy as he raised his bowl to finish what was left.
“Trey—” O. D. stammered as if he had forgotten just what he intended to say.
“Trey-beans, you want to say. That means very good in French,” prompted Jimmy.
“Thanks. I’ll get it after a while, I guess. But say, is beans a French word, too?”