Page:History of the 305th field artillery (IA historyof305thfi01camp).pdf/48

30 B. C.—Now, Doe, what possible excuse have you for overstaying your pass twenty-four hours? The time was written down. The other men got back, You know what it means, Doe, to be A. W. O. L.

(That sequence of four letters has a sound suggestive of blank walls and firing squads.)

Culprit, (Head drooping, voice thin and tremulous)

Well, sir, you see me mother-in-law was down already with the rheumatiz. She was that bad that

B. C., (Impatiently) Go on. Go on.

Culprit, (less confident)—and me wife was took Sunday night with the same terrible disease. I was just leaving for the train, too, and I couldn't get a doctor, and—

B. C. (In an arctic voice) That's enough, Doe. Those excuses were old when Noah overslayed his leave from the ark.

Culprit—(A gleam of disappointed tears in his eyes) I told 'em I wouldn't get away with it, but, hones' to Gawd, Captain, they was the best lies we could think of, and me mother-in-law said the last thing: "Stick to it, Tim, no matter what your cocky officer says."

In an army, plentifully sprinkled with men of German or Austrian descent, it was, of course, necessary to be cautious. "When is an enemy alien not an enemy alien?” became for a time the pet riddle of the paper workers. From month to month the successful answer appeared to alter, yet, except from the point of view of paper work, it troubled us little.

There were, however, conscientious objectors—not many, just enough to irritate soldiers who couldn't express their displeasure in a natural, fistie fashion without infringing the law. Were the most of these creatures nervous or sincere, men asked? Their days and nights in barracks, I fancy, weren't to be coveted. For a conscientious objector,