"Same old Bill, eh Mable!" by Edward Streeter (different ereaders txt) 📕

never scared of nothin. Nerveless. Thats me all over, Mable. But I used to think of how hard youd take it when you saw it in the papers, an how people would come an look at your house an shake there heads an walk away. Some of them would pull out a lace hankercheff out of there neck or sleeve or wherever you carry those things. Theyd touch up there eyes a bit an say "I knew him well," wether they did or not.

You know, Mable, that once or twice when I get lyin awake at night thinkin about all that stuff I came pretty near cryin myself it struck me as so sad. The one I liked to think of best tho was the minister sayin a few butiful words about me Sunday. All the people was turnin around to look at you. You were cryin quiet like an your mother was tryin to keep the tears from spottin the red Moroko himnal.

An here I am safe an sound without even a wound stripe. I feel the same way that I did when I came across on the boat without getting sunk. It aint fair to you somehow or other. I kind of cheated somehow, tho for the life of me I cant figer how. It makes me into a sort of a third class crook but Im glad to be one.

Theres been an awful lot of talk in the papers an magazines about how were comin home changed men. I dont believe your goin to have any trouble recognizin me, Mable. Perhaps Ive gotten a little stouter. Thats about all. Even the Captin, whose been with me ever since we started, was sayin to me the other day "Smith, I cant see any difference in you since the first day you came into the army."

I got thinkin the other night what a lot of good yarns I had to spin when I got home. I was plannin on how people would probably ask me around to dinner sos I could amuse em with stories about the war. I happened to menshun it to Angus an he says yes an there was about two milyun others plannin the same thing. He says the stuff about the folks that stay at home sufferin the most was never truer than it is just now.

So Ive just sworn off talkin war when I get home. I aint never goin to get like that fello down in Henrys barber shop that just sits around all day tryin to get somebody to lissen to the Battle of Gethisburg.

I may have speshul occashuns when I let loose. Like once in a while when were sittin alone evenins in the little house with the green blinds that aint built yet. Then Ill get out the helmet that belonged to the red headed Fritz an the looger pistel an the irun crosses. Ill tell you how the big ones sounded when they went over the dug-out. Ill show you how Fritz says Kamarad. Ill tell you about bilets an mud an Top sargents an whiz bangs. Perhaps once a year, say Crismus or something, Ill tell about goin over the top. I got to get that out of my sistem once in a while.

The rest of the time Im goin to be just plain Mr. Bill Smith, docter or brick layer or lawyer or street car conductor—anything in fact that hasnt got any horses connected with it.