[Illustration: He cum down that tree quicker than Tarzan uv the Apes]
Dere Julie,
Well Julie, a courier has just horned his way into camp with the
"info" that this lil ol' scrap is over, and I've lost an other chance
to be a hero; but I'm not gonna go round making a noise like a dill
pickel, just because I didn't get no show to give the Fritzies a upper
cut. I'd rather be a live simp Julie, than a dead hero, any day.
Its better for me ennyhow, to say "there he goes, than here he lies."
Believe you me derie, I've saw enuff of the damage these Boch pills
can do, to know that a boob who tries to stop one of 'em with his
frame, has no more chance than a 10 cent piece of ice when the
thermometer is 99 plus in the shade, or a scuttle of suds in a Bowery
gin mill.
Well Ol' dear, she's over, and I didn't get a chance to croak a single
Fritzie. My ol' man had better luck in the civil war. He was out one
hot nite with a foraging party and they run into a confed ambuscade,
a big fat Johnny Reb took after my old man and the chase was nip and
tuck fer about 2 miles. Just when the ol' gent had give himself as
lost, he saw over his shoulder the confed fall down in a heap and die
from being overheated. But at last Julie dere, we have made the world
safe fer the Democrats, so you can kill the cow's young son fer little
bright eyes as they did fer that young high roller mentioned in the
Bible. If veal is top high in the good ol' U.S.A., I'll be satisfied
with a table-dee-hoty dinner at the Cafe Des Enfants (meaning Child's
Restaurant), I'm not particular Julie, so long as every course is
served with your smilin face opposite. The more I see of the "Janes"
over here the better I like the Julies over there. I've saw 'em all
and not a one can hold a tallow candle up a dark alley to my own
Julie. In the language of the poet
You can talk of English women
Who like there beef and beer;
Of Italy's black haired beauties
Who love there land so dere;
Of Spanish turtle doves
Who sing of wealth and love;
But give me the U.S. Girl
She wins my esteem
Fer everytime you kiss her
You get the flavor of--Boston Pork & Beans!
[Illustration: Home again, across the ol' Atlantic.]
Skinny has just arrove back in camp from the trenches and got the news
about the sining of the armistice. He was caked with mud from hed to
foot, which he said he didn't mind till our captin complimented him on
holdin all the ground they took yesterday. I guess Skinny thot he was
bein kidded. I made him pull off his clothes in jig time fer if he'd
ever get caught out in the rain like that he would have suffered a
landslide.
Well derie, I don't suppose an other letter will reach you before
"Yours truly" so I can't say if I will rite again or not; enny-ways on
our way back across the ol' Atlantic we wont have to look out fer any
of William the Twicers tin fish, and when I get back to the land of
the free and the home of the brave, I'm gonna be afraid to get on a
ferry boat fer fear she might head across the ocean. And now Julie,
fare-thee-well until I hold you in my arms again,