“France,

Aug 30/16

Dear old Kid

I’ve managed to cop off a few minutes again so here goes.

Out of the line and drilling like the very dickens.  Everything is attack, attack, attack.  Villages, bush, open country, every conceivable kind of fighting and over every kind of obstacle.  It’s darned hard work but it certainly puts you into shape.  Despite the rotten weather and the aches and pains in muscle and bone we can’t deny feeling the glow of absolute health.

Last night we got the English papers.  Found the article you speak of in the Times and must say it was rotten.  Often those darned things creep in and all we can do is sit tight and smile and label it “Fiction”. 

Possibly you could get some other girl to help you with your drug store, Zella for instance. I imagine she would be a peach on the job.  Ernie and Ralph visited me last night and we were talking about her.  Ernie was feeling a bit homesick and we all just sat and longed for the good old days at Souris.

Have you read my last letter to mother?

Later – It’s still pouring rain.  The bottom of our tent is the cutest young lake.  Everything I own is soaked – including myself and I’m downright miserable.  The tent we’re in is nothing but a darned old sieve anyway.

Sept 1st  It’ll take a million years to get this off if I don’t “do it now”  weather still rotten and soldering is not exactly one long round of pleasure.  Howevah….

Say, that shirt choked me to death.  I cut the band right to the edge and it’s alright now.  I wear 15 and 15 ½. I told you I was getting fat.  Bob Rice, who has been away to a school for a month claimed he didn’t recognize me.  Said he thought it was the full moon.

Love Hart

Writing again soon.”