xistence), delicious cheese, and chocolates. At last the magic meal was
topped off with smoking hot black coffee, a thimbleful of brandy, and--a
_cigar_! Tobacco and cognac may have been cheap, but they made the
_feldwebel_ feel as if he had died and gone to heaven.

When he had eaten till his belt was tight for the first time in many
moons, back he was hustled to the Captain.

"Well--you have had something better than potatoes? _Bon!_ Now, out of
this, quicker than you came! Your mother may admire your face, but we
others, we have seen enough of it."

"But, Herr Captain," pleaded the poor wretch, loth to be banished from
Paradise, "I am your prisoner."

"Not at all," coolly replied the officer. "We can't be bothered with a
single prisoner. What is one flea on a blanket? Another time, if we come
across you again with enough of your comrades to make the game worth
while, why then, perhaps we may give ourselves the pain of keeping you.
You've seen that we have enough food to feed your whole trench, and
never miss it."

Away flew the German over the top, head over heels, not unassisted: and
after they had laughed awhile, his hosts and foes forgot him. But not so
could he forget them. That night, after dark, he came trotting back with
fifteen friends, all crying "Kamerad!" eager to deliver themselves up to
captivity for the flesh-pots of Egypt.

"But--we're not to go without a glimpse of the Sammies, are we?" I
asked, when stories and champagne were finished.

The "Sammies'" officers laughed. "The boys don't love that name, you
know! But it sticks like a burr. It's harder to get rid of than the
Boches. As for seeing them--(the boys, not the Boches!) _well_----" And
a consultation followed.

The trenches beyond our dug-out drawing room could not be guaranteed
"safe as the Bank of England" for non-combatants that day, and no one
wanted to be responsible for our venturing farther. Still, if we
couldn't go to the boys, a "bunch" of the boys could come to us. A
lieutenant dashed away, and presently returned with six of the tallest,
brownest, best-looking young men I ever saw. Their khaki and their
beautiful new helmets were so like British khaki and helmets that I
shouldn't have been expert enough to recognize them as American. But
somehow the merest amateur would never have mistaken those boys for
their British brothers. I can't tell where the difference lay. All I can
say is that it was there. Were their jaws squarer?