fields, the fragments of war's destructive power
and the bones of heroes who bled and died.

On the battlefields I saw innumerable quantities of equipment,
together with guns and ammunition, which had cost millions to produce
but were valueless in so far as their future use was concerned. I saw
the Place de la Concorde and the Tuileries Garden in Paris packed with
one thousand captured German guns and more than a score of Boche
planes and observation balloons. On one great pile were three thousand
Boche helmets, carefully wired together and closely guarded so that
souvenir hunters could not slip them away. It seemed a terrible price
to pay for object lessons for the great celebrations commemorating the
overthrow of autocracy. But having paid the price it was right to use
the trophies.

As the boys went into battle they left behind them great salvage piles
of things they would not need in the fight. As they came out of the
battle they left great piles of salvage which they fervently hoped the
world would never need to use again.

With the world's war bills mounting into the billions, and the value
of the salvage piles an almost negligible amount, the material waste
of war is appalling. If it will teach the nations to be as generous
toward the great reconstruction program as they were toward the
overthrow of that autocracy which threatened the world's freedom, then
the waste of war has not been in vain.

At Bar le Duc I saw great warehouses under management of the French
government stacked to the roof with auto tires and tubes. I had driven
with our Division Y.M.C.A. chief, Dr. Norton, from Neufchateau to
exchange an auto load of tires which our half dozen cars had worn out,
for an equal number of new tires. And I knew that these great piles
formed but a small percentage of the hundreds of thousands of rubber
shoes needed for the vehicles of war.

I visited the great Renault automobile plant at Nancy, which the
French government had taken over for a repair station. Literally
thousands of army trucks and official cars were passing through this
station in a constant stream, either to be quickly repaired or thrown
into the junk heap. Our own case was typical. Our Renault truck had
broken down at Luneville, twenty miles from Nancy. No local man could
make the repairs. Through our American army headquarters at Nancy we
applied to this French repair station. At eight o'clock next morning I
was on hand to pilot a heavy wre