day will come "when the whole line will
advance," and the welcome we shall receive then from those who have come
out of servitude!... There are men and women in France who live only for
that day, just as there are those in this country who would welcome the
day of death, so that they might see again those they love....

* * * * *

You may have gathered from my former letters that no friction took
place between the professional and amateur soldiers of the Signal
Company. I have tried all through my letters to give you a very truthful
idea of our life, and my account would not be complete without some
description of the Signal Company and its domestic affairs.

Think for a moment of what happened at the beginning of August. More
than a dozen 'Varsity men were thrown like Daniels into a den of
mercenaries. We were awkwardly privileged persons--full corporals with a
few days' service. Motor-cycling gave superlative opportunities of
freedom. Our duties were "flashy," and brought us into familiar contact
with officers of rank. We were highly paid, and thought to have much
money of our own. In short, we who were soldiers of no standing
possessed the privileges that a professional soldier could win only
after many years' hard work.

Again, it did not help matters that our Corps was a Corps of intelligent
experts who looked down on the ordinary "Tommy," that our Company had
deservedly the reputation of being one of the best Signal Companies in
the Army--a reputation which has been enhanced and duly rewarded in the
present war. These motor-cyclists were not only experimental
interlopers. They might even "let down" the Company.

We expected jealousy and unpleasantness, which we hoped to overcome by
hard work. We found a tactful kindness that was always smoothing the
rough way, helping us amusedly, and giving us more than our due, and a
thorough respect where respect was deserved. It was astonishing, but
then we did not know the professional soldier. During the winter there
was a trifle of friction over cooking, the work of the Signal Office,
and the use and abuse of motor-cycles. It would have been a
poor-spirited company if there had been none. But the friction was
transitory, and left no acid feeling.

I should like to pay my compliments to a certain commanding officer, but
six months' work under him has convinced me that he does not like
compliments. Still, there remains that dinner at the