lish ... we Belgians did not see any good reason for continuing the battle. But we continued. O indeed we continued. Do you know why?"
I said that I was afraid I didn't.
"Because in front of us we had the German shells, behind, the French machine guns, always the French machine guns, mon vieux."
"Je ne comprends pas bien" I said in confusion, recalling all the highfalutin rigmarole which Americans believed—(little martyred Belgium protected by the allies from the inroads of the aggressor, etc.)—"why should the French put machine guns behind you?"
The Guard Champêtre lifted his big empty eyes nervously. The vast hollows in which they lived darkened. His little rather hard face trembled within itself. I thought for a second he was going to throw a fit at my feet—instead of doing which he replied pettishly, in a sunken bright whisper:
"To keep us going forward. At times a company would drop its guns and turn to run. Pupupupupupupupup ..." his short unlovely arms described gently the swinging of a mitrailleuse ... "finish. The Belgian soldiers to left and right of them took the hint. If they did not—pupupupupupup.... O we went forward. Yes. Vive le patriotisme."
And he rose with a gesture which seemed to brush away these painful trifles from his memory, crossed the end of the room with short rapid steps, and began talking to his best friend Judas, who was at that moment engaged in training his wobbly mustachios.... Toward the close of my visit to La Ferté the Guard Champêtre was really happy for a period of two days—during which time he moved in the society of a rich, intelligent, mistakenly arrested and completely disagreeable youth in bone spectacles, copious hair and spiral putees, whom B. and I partially contented ourselves by naming Jo Jo The Lion Faced Boy. Had the charges against Jo Jo been stronger my tale would have been longer - fortunately for tout le monde they had no basis; and back went Jo Jo to his
