be hard to read this letter, my hand shakes so. This is
because all this morning I carried my rifle "at trail," which means that
I gripped it a foot from the muzzle and carried it with the butt just off
the ground, the butt constantly exercising a heavy leverage on the wrist.
Naturally I am lame.

Your letters come daily, which saves me much anguish. At each
distribution of the mail there is much quiet disappointment, which later
is very likely to express itself in the tent. Said Reardon today, the
silent man of the squad, "I'm going to write a letter home that will
raise hell." Bannister, whose wife had missed a day, remarked gravely,
"I'll have to say something to her." And Pickle came into the tent mad,
savagely remarking, "If I don't get a letter next mail, I'm going home."
Luckily it came.

But yet the men don't always sympathize with each other. Clay was
bitterly complaining of his luck. Said Knudsen, "But man, you can't
expect an answer to your letter yet. It had to go to Maryland." Then
Bannister, taking his mind from his own disappointment, added, "And great
Scott! look at the letter you writ. It was so long that she would need
three whole days to read it in, before she could begin her answer. And as
to your writing such an amount to your mother--!" "It was only eight
pages," said handsome Clay, blushing. Bannister had no mercy. "Only eight
pages? Man, it was a young novel! To your mother? Your grandmother, more
likely." Clay was silenced.

Our fourth blankets are served out, and we sleep very snug. Food is the
same, wholesome but not delicate. David and Pickle, having each a sweet
tooth, buy rather freely outside, and David occasionally slips away for a
hotel meal. As a consequence, they sometimes need doctoring. The rest of
the squad, whether from economy or on principle, stick to the daily mess
and are well. Love from

DICK.

TELEGRAM FROM PRIVATE RICHARD GODWIN TO
HIS MOTHER AT HOME

Plattsburg, Wednesday, Sep. 13.

is you know who at plattsburg and why i thought i saw her here today am
well love

DICK.

LETTERS FROM THE SAME

Postscript, written at the top of the first sheet of the letter

I have just sent you off this telegram: Is You-know-who at Plattsburg,
and why? I thought I saw her here today. A