The Enormous Room | Page 4

is
the proper word) the own private flivver of the chief of section, a
gentleman by the convenient name of Mr. A. To borrow a
characteristic-cadence from Our Great President: the lively satisfaction
which we might be suspected of having derived from the
accomplishment of a task so important in the saving of civilization
from the clutches of Prussian tyranny was in some degree inhibited,
unhappily, by a complete absence of cordial relations between the man
whom fate had placed over us and ourselves. Or, to use the vulgar
American idiom, B. and I and Mr. A. didn't get on well. We were in
fundamental disagreement as to the attitude which we, Americans,
should uphold toward the poilus in whose behalf we had volunteered
assistance, Mr. A. maintaining "you boys want to keep away from those
dirty Frenchmen" and "we're here to show those bastards how they do
things in America," to which we answered by seizing every opportunity
for fraternization. Inasmuch as eight "dirty Frenchmen" were attached
to the section in various capacities (cook, provisioner, chauffeur,
mechanician, etc.) and the section itself was affiliated with a branch of
the French army, fraternization was easy. Now when he saw that we
had not the slightest intention of adopting his ideals, Mr. A. (together
with the sous-lieutenant who acted as his translator--for the chief's
knowledge of the French language, obtained during several years'
heroic service, consisted for the most part in "Sar var," "Sar marche,"
and "_Deet donk moan vieux_") confined his efforts to denying us the
privilege of acting as drivers, on the ground that our personal
appearance was a disgrace to the section. In this, I am bound to say, Mr.
A. was but sustaining the tradition conceived originally by his
predecessor, a Mr. P., a Harvard man, who until his departure from
Vingt-et-Un succeeded in making life absolutely miserable for B. and
myself. Before leaving this painful subject I beg to state that, at least as
far as I was concerned, the tradition had a firm foundation in my own
predisposition for uncouthness plus what Le Matin (if we remember
correctly) cleverly nicknamed La Boue Héroïque.
Having accomplished the nettoyage (at which we were by this time

adepts, thanks to Mr. A.'s habit of detailing us to wash any car which
its driver and aide might consider too dirty a task for their own hands)
we proceeded in search of a little water for personal use. B. speedily
finished his ablutions. I was strolling carelessly and solo from the
cook-wagon toward one of the two tents--which protestingly housed
some forty huddling Americans by night--holding in my hand an
historic morceau de chocolat, when a spick, not to say span, gentleman
in a suspiciously quiet French uniform allowed himself to be driven up
to the bureau, by two neat soldiers with tin derbies, in a Renault whose
painful cleanliness shamed my recent efforts. This must be a general at
least, I thought, regretting the extremely undress character of my
uniform, which uniform consisted of overalls and a cigarette.
Having furtively watched the gentleman alight and receive a
ceremonious welcome from the chief and the aforesaid French
lieutenant who accompanied the section for translatory reasons, I
hastily betook myself to one of the tents, where I found B. engaged in
dragging all his belongings into a central pile of frightening proportions.
He was surrounded by a group of fellow-heroes who hailed my coming
with considerable enthusiasm. "Your bunky's leaving" said somebody.
"Going to Paris" volunteered a man who had been trying for three
months to get there. "Prison you mean" remarked a confirmed optimist
whost disposition had felt the effects of French climate.
Albeit confused by the eloquence of B.'s unalterable silence, I
immediately associated his present predicament with the advent of the
mysterious stranger, and forthwith dashed forth, bent on demanding
from one of the tin-derbies the high identity and sacred mission of this
personage. I knew that with the exception of ourselves everyone in the
section had been given his seven days' leave--even two men who had
arrived later than we and whose turn should, consequently, have come
after ours. I also knew that at the headquarters of the Ambulance, _7
rue François Premier_, was Monsieur Norton, the supreme head of the
Norton Harjes fraternity, who had known my father in other days.
Putting two and two together I decided that this potentate had sent an
emissary to Mr. A. to demand an explanation of the various and sundry
insults and indignities to which I and my friend had been subjected, and

more particularly to secure our long-delayed permission. Accordingly I
was in high spirits as I rushed toward the bureau.
I didn't have to go far. The mysterious one, in conversation with
monsieur le sous-lieutenant, met me half-way. I