Love Letters of a Rookie to Julie Part 1

Love Letters of a Rookie to Julie.

by Barney Stone.

To--

R.E.S., whose Suggestions made these pages possible and palatable.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ME ON GUARD]

_DERE JULIE_

IN CAMP (Somewhere between the Kitchen and the lunch counter).

Dere Julie,

Well, hear I am in camp after being "rough-housed on the rattlers" for 1 day and 2 nites; I was so shook-up that I'm like a loose b.u.t.ton on an overcoat--no wheres in particular.

The most vivid impression in my bean is our interview in the hall-way of your flat the night (or was it morning) when we bid each other a fond fare-thee-well. Never will I forget them tender and loving words you spoke, also will I remember them words spoke, by the guy on the second floor, NOT so tender; how was we to know you were backed up against the push b.u.t.ton of his bell? When a b.o.o.b like him lives in a flat in wartime he ought to be made to m.u.f.fle his bell after 10 p.m.

I'm gonna rite the Pres. about this.

Our going away was some deeparture; I'll bet a small piece of change that every fair young damsel on the block was present--and some damsels not so young and fair. The old maid who grabbed onto me had seen about 40 summers and heavings knows how many winters; she was so crosseyed that if she had pulled a weep the tears would have run down the back of her neck. It was her last chance to grab a man and believe you me, she made use of the opportunity.

Well angel face, here I am a buck private fur fair, but believe you me, I'd rather be a private with a chicken on my knee than a kernel with an eagle on my shoulder; and I'd rather have any shoulder on a bar than a bar on my shoulder any time.

Yours loving dough-boy,

BARNEY.

P.S.--I don't know why they call us dough boys, for thirty per aint much "dough," is it angel face?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "How wuz I to know you wuz agin the push b.u.t.ton of his bell."]

Same Camp.

(Not on the map.)

Dere Julie,

Many thanks, my cherrie (that's French), fur the lovely cake you sent me, but believe you me deary, I didn't get a smell of it. I got the box about 6 p.m. opened it at 6;01, and at 6;01 our band played the Star Spangled Banner and all us fellows had to stand at attention; by the time they had finished, our company mascot, a billy goat camouflaged with a bunch of whiskers and an unshaven glue factory breath gobbled the whole blooming business.

Speaken of eats, the Gov't certainly comes across with the gorging.

That is, there's plenty of it, but the "maynew" is not as long as a search warrant. But O, my kingdom for a plate of ham and eggs. Ham is scarcer here than at a Jew wedding feast, and as for eggs, there ain't no sich thing in the world. I think that some of Bill of Berlin's ginks in this country have been hanging up birth control "info" in every hen house in the U.S. least ways sumpin has happened to corner the market.

Well, deary, far be it from me to say how long this war will last. I got a scheme to end it, so I'm gonna spill it to you, and here she is; Lock Theo. Roosevelt and his three sons in the same room with William the Twicer and his seven sons; whichever c.u.ms out at the end of an hour wins the war. You bet when this c.u.ms off I'll hold a ticket on Theo. Well honey bunch, I had a lovely dream last eve, I dreamed that you and me was holding down a park bench, with not a cop in sight.

I had just taken you in my arms, and touched your ruby lips, when I suddently awoke to find the captain's pet sausage hound was licking my nose. Some day there's gonna be a first cla.s.s dog funeral in this camp and that lop-eared canine is gonna ride in the head wagon.

It's so cold down here that if a guy wanted a hair cut all he'd haft to do would be to wet his hair, leave his hat off, and break off the icicles, More Anon.

Yours until Lillian Rustle retires,

BARNEY.

P.S.--I'd rather be a lamp post on Broadway, than a ten story building down here.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The Captin's pet sausage hound wuz lickin' my face."]

In Camp C, W and H.

(Meaning cold, wet and hungry.)

Dere Star of My Heart,

Big day for us; we got our new soldier scenery--a complete set from kicks to skypieces. Did you ever see a feather bed with a string tied around the middle, or a bale of hay with the middle hoop busted?

That's what my appollonnaris form looks like now draped in the togs handed me by the "land of the free and the home of the brave." The pants must have been cut out with a circular saw for a bow-legged simp. I have to use a compa.s.s to find out which direction I'm going, and believe you me when I caught sight of "yours truly" in a mirror I looked like the end of a load of wood and just as handsome.

These clothes remind me of the tailors sign on eur block, "A.

LEVINSKY, FIRST CLa.s.s TAILOR. Wear a suit of our clothes and you will have a fit." I am liable to have several fits before I get acquainted with 'em. If I could rent out the extra room, I could buy "makins"

for a month. They call 'em fatigue uniforms, and believe you me they called 'em right--one look at 'em makes you tired. The only things that fit are the hat cord and collar ornaments.

You know how it is with me Julie nothing ready made fits me but a hanky.

After studying the directions, I managed to make 'em hang on me. I was so interested in 'em that on my way over to the barracks, I failed to salute a major who pa.s.sed; he grabbed me amid s.h.i.+ps with one hand and pointed to his shoulder with the other; my mind bein on clothing scenery instead of salutin, I piped up, You got no kick comin, look what they handed me.

Me and Skinny Shaner got on the outside of about a dozen pickled pigs feet last night at the canteen and finished off with about a quart of ice-cream apeace. Along about a hour or so afterwards during the mixing process, I guess the pigs feet got cold in the ice cream and commenced to kick. Skinny was doubled up so he looked like a horse shoe bend on a scenic railroad. I suggested that we each take a dose of Allen's Foot Ease, as I heard that helped sore feet, but Skinny balked; he always was stubborn like that. Finally, we sent in a three alarm for a doc.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "You got no kick comin'--look what they handed me."]

He asked us what we'd been eatin; we couldn't give up anything, otherwise we'd have "give up" the pigs-feet, so the Doc. Allowed we had the appende-come-and-get-me. That's about as near to the truth as the Docs usually gets. If you're laying at death's door they generally pull you thru. The Doc said "operation at once" but havin read Irve Cobb's book about Operations I pa.s.sed the buck to Skinny and we both got better simultaneously to once. I don't jest "make" this appendicitis but I have a suspicion that's its a disease that costs about $500.00 more than the stummick ache; anyhow its sumpin you have just before your Doc buys a new automobile. All the samee, we're off pigs feet fur life.

Yrs in Health

BARNEY.

P.S.--I left my other s.h.i.+rt at the "c.h.i.n.ks" to be laundered. Don't let him sell it for charges before I get back.

Dere Julie,