The Washington herald., 1917-09-30
BILLET GOSSIP
Copyright. ia7. BY the Mcclure NewspAps

BILLET GOSSlP
tCopynght, 1877, BY the Mcclure Newspaper
Syndicate.)
(By Riheman Patrick MacGll. Au-
thor OF The Great PUSH" etc.)
The men In the barn billet of Mou-
lin Farm had been out working all
the night previous, and they had
slept for the better part Of that day.
Now that the autumn dusk had fall
en- these men (who expected TO be
sent up to the firing line), were told
that they were not to leave their
billets that night. In the morning
they were to go back for rest to
village far away to the rear. And
the men were pleased. for they had
quite enough Of it for the time be-
ing. as they themselves said, when
speaking to one another. Let 9TH
ers get a chance now. for turn about
is fair in a job where there's a deal
more killing than medals" they re-
marked.
The battalion to which the men be-
longed had been supplying working
parties TO the front line for close upon
a fortnight and soldiers who work
with pick and shovel in No Mans
Land have the most trying labor OF
war. Not for them is that fighting
SA0llaEaLlOn WHICH " SOANANA~
who sweep forward on the enemy.
Then. men, puIged OF fear and even
of thought. no longer are conscious
Of the weakness Of the flesh. They be-
come one great resistless purpose,
able and ready to accomplish any
feat. But war, as exemplified in the
mundane occupation of digging saps
or.laying wires, is a different mat
ter. The men are struck by the en-
emy's high explosives and cannot
strike back; they are killed and can
rot have revenge. For the man with
the shovel and pick, war is all killing
and no medals.
Talk Mt Night.
The men in the barn were pleased
TO be out of it for a time, for ther
casualties had been heavy as work
inz parties. Now that they had not
to 20 I'D to the trenches that night.
they Law back in the straw, took on
their puttees, lit their cigarettes and
Ia .ked Of war. the tale of one deed
Of daring leading to another.
Mind a year gone yesterday!
red-haired Irishman named Gahey'
who had just finished writing let
ter by candle light. The candle stood
on an empty ammunition box in the
center Of the apartment. and the
Irishman sat on the straw, his writ
ing pad on his knee. We wor down
TO the Somme. We wor sitttn' in a
barn like this one and playin' cards,
with the Jerry's trenches hardly the
crow iv a cock away.
An the bloomin' shells shakin' the
tiles when they burst outside, said
a second man of the party. young.
o6a cd TaCLnaU nfCknamPd
Spudhole. "Blimey! t'wasn't art a
place to be playin' cards, and I 'ad
some luck that evenin' fore the
bloomin' roof went West"
Blown off?' inquired a youngster,
whose life of active service began
three nights previously.
on" laughed the red-haired Irish
man. 1T did 90 off-like a leaf from
a tree in the big wind And poor old
Sergeant Sharon went with 1t"
a damned good bloke e was too"
said Spudhole." Twas the cards that
saved US.
How was that?" middle-aged man
with a white moustache inquired from
a dim angle of the room where the
sheaves were huddled up in big un-
calmly heap.
Twas like this" said the Irish
man card playin' for money is not
allowed, as ye know. in the army. It's
Samblin'. and gamblin' is not for SOL
diers. 1t can be done on the Stock
Exchange, but it can't be done here.
Which is right, for II man is blown
from a gamblin' school up to heaven
b. n shell, what excuse has he to
give to St Peter? We worn't gamb-
ling. for there was no money on the
table,
We just Tailed up and settled our
accounts after" Spudhole informed
the company. II made some dibs
that day. Seven francs in all
made