“Forget it, Jimmy. What I’ve got is yours. Compree?” asked O. D., showing the effect of association with McGee in his language.
“Gee! you’re gettin’ the stuff great. Well, we’re off. Bonjour, madame. Merci beaucoup,” said Jimmy, shaking hands with the madame. O. D. did the same and mumbled something that sounded like “Banjo.”
“Au revoir, messieurs,” responded the old woman.
Down the village street they ambled like a pair of old comrades.
Just as they were getting near the last house on the Grande Rue a couple of American soldiers came out of a barn door. Hay was sticking to their clothes and around their necks and heads. They approached Jimmy and O. D.
“What outfit, buddy?” asked the first one to Jimmy.
“Twenty-sixth division. Know where any of the Twenty-sixth is ’bout here?” was Jimmy’s question.
“You’re gang got a YD painted on all your stuff?”
“Oui,” answered Jimmy.
“Well, there was artillery passed through here yesterday noon—beaucoup of it—whole regiment about. Say have you seen anything of the Twenty-eighth Division? We got lost a few days ago. ’Ain’t been able to locate ’em yet.”