The sun., 1918-11-10
A Soldier Poet in France
Letters of Private Charles Divine, Author
of "City Ways and Company Streets"

doesn't have in its principal square a well
and village pump that squeaks as this
one does.
But the pump wasn't squeaking on the
hot August afternoon on which We walked
across the square The village was de-
serted. We had the eobblestones and the
sidewalks to ourselves The inhabitants
were either off afeld, harvesting, or else
keeping cool inside Of their drawn shut
tiers. Down q side street we found one
man moving about IN his shop. He was
a maker of sabots. Out of pieces of solid
oak he was gouging the wooden shoes.
He said he could make "trois, quatre"
(three, four) pairs a day, for which he
gets five francs a pair. He wasn't 80
busy that he couldn't drop his tools and
accept the offer of cigarette. You can
win Frenehman's heart with American
tobacco It works wonders.
With the Washerwomen.
Further down the side street We came
upon one other spot Of activity In all this
golden tranquility. 1t was the "lavoir,"
the stone shed In which dozen women
were washing clothes. 1t was a cool,
clustered place, and around the rim Of
the pool, under the shady roof, the women
Nlr.t in padded boxes Of straw, scrubbing
the laundry on q board aslant in the blue
gray, soapy water, or pounding it with
piece Of wood shaped like butter worker.
They set up a great clatter of "bon jOurs'
at our entrance, and the old women asked
us to sit down and rest IN their refuge
from the sun.
That's the village in the daytime, before
The cafes are open to the soldiers. But in
the evening the streets are full of folk,
officers, enlisted men, nurses and eonva-
lescents, many Of whom are but 4 few
weeks from the firing line, where they
went through hell of shell and machine
gun FIRE. Now and then q convalescent
passes talking to another in a hoarse, rasp-
ing whisper, the relic Of having been
gassed. But even a eonvaleseent likes
glass of wine of an evening, and that's
why you find him and others sitting at
table in Madame's place, the Cafe du
Commerce, drinking vim blanc or vim
rouge, or perhaps only limonade. Ma
dame isn't permitted to sell soldiers
liquors. nor is she permitted to sell SOL
diers anything after $50 P. II.
The Cafe du Commerce.
Tn the big room Just inside the ge-
ranium boxes in the window there are
tables; We found just room enough in
corner 10 squeeze in. At a nearby table,
under an old fashioned colored print,
some natives sat at supper: two men and
their wives. The men had huge napkins,
The size Of tableclOths, tucked under their
chins, and the women were feeding a kit
ten who ate ravenously from everybody's
plate.
Madame's daughter, black eyed and
merry voiced, darted from table to table,
taking orders. Madame's mother, gray
haired and bent with age, went about, too,
trying to be of help, but alas! her mind
was no longer active, and so Madame's
daughter had to scold grandmere fire.
quently and send her back 10 the kitchen.
Madame herself moved about loquaciously.
She stopped at our table for brief coll
versation, and then went on.
II don't know what she said,1 admitted
Dick, ''but can nod my head and say
'ouT with the best of them-heyl get .outp
The ravenous kitten had climbed on the
table and made sdvances toward Dicks
glass Of wine.
Dick often had inspirations. After put
ting the kitten down he noticed two
Frenchmen playing a game of cards at a
nearby table, and decided that that was