Our stay at Funston was short, but strenuous. We were not allowed to leave our barrack, for there were a thousand and one different papers, it seemed, that each man had to sign. Then, too, we turned in our pack, and all other equipment except our clothing and personal effects.
It was a wonderful feeling when, on the morning of May 9th, 1919, just a year to the day from the time we left Camp Doniphan for overseas service, we marched up to the Personnel Office to receive our discharges. We could hardly believe it was true. We filed in—soldiers, and a few minutes later came out—civilians.
We're glad we served our country when she needed us, and we're glad "it's over over there." It's just as many an A. E. F. man has said, "We wouldn't take a million dollars for our experiences over there, but we wouldn't give a nickel with a hole in it for any more like them."
FICKLE WOMEN
It either was Tom Keene, Henry George or some other good nickel seller that once said, "Women thou art fickle things," and to come right down to it the old boy was about right. Even in this war we have found that the fair sex is not overcoming this weakness, in fact woman today is worse than she was yesterday.
In the days of old the men would do daring acts to win the hand of fair lady. If he went on a crusade and brought back a string of dragon heads she would marry him. They would live happily till some other daredevil comes along with long wavy hair and two strings of dragon heads. Right away friend wife drops a Sedlitz powder in his "vin-rouge." A few days finds hubby pushing up daisies and the handsome stranger is seen playing a guitar under the widow's window, she encouraging him by dropping roses.
Now today he pops the question, she says, "But we won't have the knot tied till you come back from the war." While he was putting the half karat on that special finger he began to figure how long it would take him to kill off the population of Germany at the rate of five thousand a day and get back to the ideal of his dreams. He goes across the pond and receives his sweet weekly letter till one day he gets one that makes him think that he is opening some other fellow's mail.
She had not waited to see how many "Dutch" helmets and medals he would bring home but had gone before the altar with some guy who couldn't enlist on account of a thick head.
It's a wonder we ever won the war with such moral support as this coming through the mail. In this company alone, which has a strength of only one hundred and twenty-three men, eleven per cent were jilted in this way. All of them will probably not die old bachelors, but it will take some pretty strong bait to get these fish to nibble again.