Then he took the recalcitrant trousers, placed them gently but firmly against his friend’s heart—­or such a matter, showing how far from the ideal they came.  Then he laid on the bed a brown woollen shirt, and in the tail of it marked out dramatically a “V” slice about the shape of an old-fashioned slice of pumpkin pie—­a segment ten or a dozen inches wide that would require two hands in feeding.  Then he pointed from the shirt to the trousers and then to the ample bosom of his friend, indicating with emotion that the huge pie-slice was to go into the rear corsage of the breeches.  It was wonderful to see intelligence dawn in the face of that chambermaid.  The gestures of that Bull Moose speech had touched her heart.  Suddenly she knew the truth, and it made her free, so she cried, “Wee wee!” And oratory had again risen to its proper place in our midst!  At two o’clock she returned with the pumpkin pie slice from the tail of the brown shirt, neatly, but hardly gaudily inserted into the rear waist line of the riding trousers, and we lay down to pleasant dreams; for we found that by standing stiffly erect, by keeping one’s tunic pulled down, and by carefully avoiding a stooping posture, it was possible to conceal the facts of one’s double life.  So we went forth with Major Murphy the next morning as care-free as “Eden’s garden birds.”  We looked like birds, too—­scarecrows!

[Illustration:  Eight inches short in one waistband is a catastrophe]

Our business took us to the American Ambulance men who were with the French army.  Generally when they were at work they were quartered near a big base hospital; and their work took them from the large hospital to the first aid stations near the front line trenches.  Our way from Paris to these men led across the devastated area of France.  As the chief activity of the French at the time of our visit was in the Verdun sector, we spent most of our first week at the front near Verdun.  And one evening at twilight we walked through the ruined city.  The Germans had just finished their evening strafe; two hundred big shells had been thrown over from their field guns into the ruins.  After the two hundredth shell had dropped it was as safe in Verdun as in Emporia until the next day.  For the Germans are methodical in all things, and they spend just so many shells on each enemy point, and no more.  The German work of destruction is thorough in Verdun.  Not a roof remains intact upon its walls; not a wall remains uncracked; not a soul lives in the town; now and then a sentinel may be met patrolling the wagon road that winds through the streets.  This wagon road, by the way, is the object of the German artillery’s attention.  Upon this road they think the revitalment trains pass up to the front.  But the sentinels come and go.  The only living inhabitants we saw in the place were two black cats.  It must have been a beautiful city before the war—­a town of sixty thousand and more.  It contained