Free trader-journal. (Ottawa, Ill.) 1916-1920, 1918-07-30
Y. M. C. A. Workers Given Severe
Test Before Getting I'm.
pOrtant Work.
NOT WHAT THEY EXPECT
Have Visions of Performing Heroic
Services and Then Find That
War Is Not All Romance
and Visions
BY MAMMALIAN FOSTER.

the good-lo0king girl In the natty, new
uniform sat In Il steamer chair, her
eyes hazy while she dreamed a dream
OF what her work in France was 10 be.
One had hint of what that vision
was, for now and then, her voice low
with suppressed emotion. she would
talk bit about il. In her minds eye
she saw herself somewhere out by M
Mans Land. crouching beside wound
ed boy In Khaki whose last words she
was taking down while she ministered
to his last, parting wants Ii was u
fine, heroic dream, that dream Of hers.
In a nearby chair sat another war
worker, this one man. He too had
dream, and the dream was even more
heroic than the girls. Out In the 'front.'
line trenches he saw himself standing
by with the boys in khaki. the air over.
head filled with the puffs of deadly
bursting sharpnel while he too. hero
ically brave, ministered to the wants
Of his charges.
Altogether Different.
The writer has just returned from
trip among line of camps. There
was a Red Triangle hut near the en-
trance of one camp. One side of the
hut was flanked by steaming mess
kitchen; across rutted road a chan
mel of traffic filled with men, mules,
motors and trucks, was stockade
filed with German prisoners of war
A Y. NJ. c. A. secretary met the
writer at the door. The secretary
looked tired. tagged. worn out. In
spite of that, however. his air was
cheerful, brisk, cordial.
Inside all was spick and span. There
was scattering handful Of boys in
khaki, the majority colored soldiers,
who belonged about the place. At the
hut's other end was a counter and be.
hind the counter were two familia
faces.
One was the girl who'd sat in the
steamer chair, her eyes hazy as she'd
dreamed her dream. The other was
the man who'd come across with her
the fellow who'd seen himself framed
heroically amidst the bursting shrap-
mel.
A trio Of soldiers was draped about
the girls counter. The three, 1t hap
pened. were whites. About the other
counter were four other soldiers, and
all the four were black. The man. a
damp, muggy towel in his hand. was
hopping off the counter. The look on
his face was the same look one beheld
on the face of the girl. II was look
of bored, excruciating we8finess.
"Whatll you have, eegs?" he was
! murmuring to big Galveston roust-
about.
The girl, her voice even more list
less, was saying: cigarettes are rs
confines the pack. No, there is no
chewing tobacco today"
Their Bubble Pricked.
As they saw the writer 1t would be
difficult to describe the look that
spread upon their faces.
The girl was the first to regain her
poise
I'm very well, thank you. The
work. Oh, yes. It's not exactly what
thought 1t would be, hut then, C'est In
guerre." II took struggle, though,
for her to say IT, Chewing tobacco,
chocolate and garettes--tlat instead
Of glory.
The man was more brief.
THE war-what do | think OF TT
It's eggs mostly-fried eggs"
Their hubble had been pricked. They
were seeing the war, n large part OF II
anyway, face to face with its realities.
Outside, the hut secretary with
grin stopped to bid the writer good.by.
That's the way with lot Of them
from over home" he remarked. "Thev
come over here, thinking they're 90
Ing right up TO the front where they
can have a hand In the big show But
they're all right That girls got the
right stuff in her and after she's been
tried out here while she'll have a
chauce Al bigger things. The man.
too, Is coming on. He's had Jolt lust
As all Of us get it over here, but when
he gets the romance all wiped out of
him he'll be mighty valuable person
for our sort Of work. No, there's
mighty little romance In this mans
scrap. You can't do much Joy riding
just now In France"
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