ugh the string of French villages where the first contingent
was training.

The whirlwind came down the main road in a cloud of dust. It sped on the
fleeting tires of a high-powered motor which flew from its dust-grey
hood a red flag with two white stars. It blew into the villages and out,
through the billets and cook tents, mess halls, and picket lines. The
whirlwind was John J. Pershing.

The commander-in-chief "hit" the training area early in the morning and
his coming was unannounced. Before evening he had completed a stern
inspection which had left only one impression in the minds of the
inspected, and that impression was to the effect that more snap and pep,
more sharpness and keenness were needed.

At the conclusion of the inspection all of the officers of the
contingent were agreeing that the whirlwind visitation was just what had
been needed to arouse the mettle and spirit in an organisation comprised
of over fifty per cent. raw recruits. Many of the officers themselves
had been included in the pointed criticisms which the commander directed
against the persons and things that met disfavour in his eyes.

The night following that inspection or "raid," as it was called, it
would have been safe to say that nowhere in the area was there a recruit
who did not know, in a manner that he would not forget, the correct
position of a soldier--the precise, stiff, snappy attitude to be
presented when called to attention. The enlisted men whose heels did not
click when they met, whose shoulders slouched, whose chins missed the
proper angle, whose eyes were not "front" during the inspection,
underwent embarrassing penalties, calculated to make them remember.

"Have this man fall out," General Pershing directed, as he stood before
a recruit whose attitude appeared sloppy; "teach him the position of a
soldier and have him stand at attention for five minutes."

One company which had prided itself upon having some of the best
embryonic bomb-throwers in the contingent, contributed a number of
victims to the above penalties, and as the General's train of
automobiles swirled out of the village, the main street seemed to be
dotted with silent khaki-clad statues doing their five minute sentences
of rigidity.

"What about your men's shoes?" General Pershing asked a captain sharply,
while he directed his eyes along a company line of feet whose casings
seemed to be approaching the shabby.

"We need hobnails, sir," replied the ca