University of Wisconsin Superior - Gitche Gumee Yearbook (Superior, WI)

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“I sec by the paper that bis boat is in. He’ll have a lot to tell us Bab, and I admit I've been getting very anxious myself. Let’s see, it's just seven-thirty— well, lie ought to be here in an hour.” “Oh. yes, in any hour anyway, unless lie has car trouble, so we’ll wait right here and I’ve brought down some letters that I thought you would like to hear parts of. You see Tommy and this Frenchman, Jean, arc very great friends, fought side by side. And, while Tommy was in Paris in the hospital, Jean was able to visit him when he was on leave. Well some way. Jean got mv address and wrote begging me to answer. So what could I do. I ask you, father? You see lie is a poor lonesome soldier, who has been fighting for four years, and so I sort of adopted him to see if I couldn’t cheer him up a bit.” Barbara picked up one of the letters and said: “Oh, this is a darling, do let me ready part of it. It was one of the first.” ‘Dear Miss Sherman—How delightfully surprised I was when the postmaster came this morning bring ing me a letter from my dear American friend. It was with very great pleasure that I learned that a nice young American girl was willing to accept to correspond with an humble French and alien ’Poilu.’ ’ “Poilu, Poilu, what a strange word. How do you suppose it’s pronounced, father?” “Why, I haven’t the slightest idea, dear.” “Well, never mind. I’ll go on.” “‘It’s very kind of you to think, notwithstanding the great distance which separates your country from the battle-field, of the poor soldiers who arc fighting for the right cause. These arc not ungrateful to the affectionate testimonies that you and your numerous friends send to them. They arc willing to die to avoid you to know the German villanics and if they arc still fighting like lions, it is with the. only hope that after the battle, they’ll find some charming young lady, such as Miss Sherman, gay and smart, who will do their best so that the ‘Sammies’ should forget this awful war which has upset the world. “’But that’s enough about war now isn't it? I’ll introduce me to you—Jean Bouchairc, actually corporal in the colonial artillery. In peace time somewhat explorer and commercial in Africa (Ivory coat) to.precise. Born in Paris, twenty-three years old, a great devil of six feet, American looking, very thin and shaved moustaches. I have black hair, brown eyes, black eve-brows, white skin and white teeth. He is not a very wicked boy and loves very much the little misses. I don’t sec anything else to add. Do I please you thus? “ ‘Now, you asked me to tell you about my country, about this splendid France, which is the world’s home. What eulogy should be better than the one your own people coming over here to give to this country. It is only wonderful. “ ‘My parents are living in St. Denis, a small place next to Paris, where I regularly spend my holidays. I love my home-very much because it stands between water and an immense wood and also because it is at so small a distance from Paris, (the light town).’ Well, that’s enough of that one, but here’s another. “‘Dear Barbara: I received two letters yesterday and the New York post cards, of which I am very pleased. I did not know your city was so large, and I could not help laughing when I had a look at the high houses, what a marvelous observatory post it should be for the next war. “ ’I wish I was your chum and you take me every opportunity you have for a ride in your car all around New York. How nice it would be, at least for me. “ ‘My great pleasure when I go to Paris is to take a taxi and ride all around the city; of course, you'll be the chauffeur, and I want my place near the chauffeur. aa

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Barbara Sherman seated at the little mahogany desk in her room wrote slowly and thoughtfully, pausing now and then to glance at an open letter lying near. As the end of an hour drew near she finished writing, folded the sheets of beautifully engraved pink paper, put them in an envelope and addressed it: Mr. Jean Bouchaire, 5 Rue Maude 5 Saint Denis (pres') Paris, France. Barbara then picked up a calendar and carefully put a tiny check on a Wednesday which occurred just four weeks after the last check. “Four weeks, then another letter for you Monsieur Jean. Do 1 write often enough ? Once a week, once every Wednesday! But poor little Tommy, how neglected he has been. Just a note now and then hoping he was safe and stating how busy I am.” But now, after a year. Tommy was coining home again. A glorious Tommy, who had fought and fought, but who had finally been sent home disabled with a broken leg. His nurse had written while lie was in the hospital, that the leg had been badly crushed, that it would eventually be all right but would take a long time to mend. And he was coming that night. 11 is boat had arrived but would be held in quarantine until six that evening. He would then be free to drive out to her. Barbara arose and walked over to her dressing table. She pieked up two pictures and smiled as she held them together for comparison. “You Jean, decidedly French with your dark hair and eyes, and Tommy so American—light wavy hair and blue eyes. Both soldiers much alike, vet really how different!” She carefully replaced the pictures and turned again to her desk. From a little drawer she took a handful of letters, then crossed the room, switched out the lights and went down stairs. As she entered the large drawing room, Barbara saw her father sitting on the large beautiful davenport before the grate fire, reading a paper. The only light in the room came from the shaded lamp on the table just behind him and from the fire in the grate. “Good evening, father, what’s the news? Mr. Sherman looked up quickly and smiled. He put the paper aside and affectionately drew his daughter down beside him. “Where in the world does my little Bab keep herself lately? Is it still the Red Cross?” It certainly is. only much more. All day we’ve been making bandages, oh, just stacks of them and to-night there is to be that wonderful benefit party at Mrs. Reynolds’ new home, but of course I couldn’t think of going since we expect Tommy. Dear old Tommy, I wonder if lie’s changed? I’ve been so excited all day that I could hardly work.” Mr. Sherman smiled and said: »2

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 Will I have it? But how to reach you and vour car? Can’t you send your car over? I'll put two wings on it and perhaps then I’ll be able to go over and see you. You must excuse me, dear Barbara, if I am not very serious to-day, but war is over, so of course your French ‘poilu’ would be the happiest boy in the world if he could only offer ‘a cup of chocolate’ to his American friend. I say ‘a cup of chocolate’ because we arc in a very small village (about handkerchief size) and there is an American tire canteen where they give chocolate. “‘You asked me if I ever heard of Chicago? Yes, dear Barbara, and I was quite a young boy in the primary school, the teacher used to tell us stories about this great city. I heard of a mechanical engine—you take a pig (living), you put him in the opening of the machine, and when lie arrives at the machine’s ‘exit’ you’ve got sausage, bacon, all prepared; if you arc not satisfied with these sausages, you reput all of it in the machine through ’exit’ and when it reaches the ’opening’ you still get your pig (living). That's how I learned of the existence of a city called ‘Chicago.’ Mr. Sherman and Barbara laughed, and Barbara said: Fie is clever, don’t you think, father?” Yes, indeed, clever, but at times rather sentimental, Bab. But, would lie be French if he were not?” Well, I suppose not. But you arc tired, dear, and I’m afraid Tommy isn’t coming to-night. He will probably call first thing in the morning. Perhaps some trouble on the boat and lie doesn’t wish to call us late.” “But, I’m sure he’ll come to-night. I do so wont to see him. Here, let me read just part of this letter, then I’ll go up to bed, for I am sleepy.” Well, just one more then.” “AH right, here’s a good one.” ‘Dear Barabara—It’s with great pleasure that I acknowledge you of your nice letter which reached me in the heat of the battle. This note coming from so far, written by a lovely miss already dear to me, cheered me up. When I received it, I was sad, I felt lonesome, very lonesome amongst all my unwashed companions. To my great regret I could not see any charming miss, not a sister soul in whom to confide my distress, but just at that moment, I heard my name called and I rushed at once towards the happiness distributer, who gave me your letter. You see if you want to cheer me up, you’ll have to write very very often, but then I expect your good heart will not forget me. ‘How wonderful it is to live after four years spent in trenches, hearing the sound of the shells, working nights and days under rain and sometimes snow and seeing some good friends killed or wounded. I never knew the price of life before these happy days. I don’t think I can be unhappy any more after this war. My mother docs not know vet if I am still living and the letters I receive now show me how good it is to have such a kind mother. I hope to go home on leave very soon, but this time mother will not cry to see me going away again. There is no more danger since war is over. ‘I dream, dear Barbara, of an imaginary little girl who would love me but besides (when I am not dreaming) I do not believe a girl could love but me ! ! ! In my dreams, too, I see a girl who is fond of music just ns I am, but who knows it better than I. and is able to plav piano or any other instrument, so that when the war is all over. I’ll forget all the terrible things I have seen during these long years. Don’t you know such a girl? I would not be surprised to hear that you are looking very much like this girl, and when I get your photo. I’ll see. But I must close now, ns the postman is coming and night too. “ ‘Praying you to accept the sweetest thoughts of your Jean.’ ” 81