The German sergeant knew no English
and could not understand his testimonial, but he tucked it in his
pocket, well satisfied.
In due time, he was sent to the front and was captured by "the ladies
from hell," as the Germans called the Scotch kilties. He at once
presented his introduction, and his captors laughed heartily when they
read:
"This is L----. He is not a bad sort of chap. Don't shoot him;
torture him slowly to death."
The amazing part of the "show," however, was the American doughboy.
Never was there a more cheerful, laughing, good-natured set of boys in
the world; never a more homesick, lonely, and complaining set. But
good nature predominated, and the smile was always upper-most, even
when the moment looked the blackest, the privations were worst, and the
longing for home the deepest.
Bok had been talking to a boy who lived near his own home, who was on
his way to the front and "over the top" in the Argonne mess. Three
days afterward, at a hospital base where a hospital train was just
discharging its load of wounded, Bok walked among the boys as they lay
on their stretchers on the railroad platform waiting for bearers to
carry them into the huts.
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