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Updated: June 19, 2025
I guess that sort of settled it, for the next night it came again and stuck its snout right in my mug. I turned around, but it just climbed over me and there it was." "Well, what did you do then? Chase it out?" "Chase it out?" said the doughboy, looking into Bok's face with the most unaffected astonishment. "Why, mister, that's a mother-pig, that is. She's going to have young ones in a few days.
At Annapolis there has been a poster, showing a big American sailor with a doughboy on his back, and underneath the words, 'We put them across. A brigadier general has written a book entitled, How the Marines Saved Paris. Beside the marines there were some engineers. And how about M Company of the 23rd regiment of the 2nd Division? It lost in one day at Chateau-Thierry all its men but seven.
And they are prized as tokens of the affection of the French for Americans. In speaking of American decorations we can hardly write without heat. The doughboy did not get his just deserts. And he, without doubt, is correct in placing the blame for the neglect at the door of the American commanding officer, Colonel Stewart.
The shimmy and the cheek dance would not draw a second look while a stranger could grin audibly at the doughboy shuffle-hip-screwing along in Shakleton's. Many a fair barishna on Troitsky Prospect held her furs up to conceal her irrepressible mirth at the sight. Aw, Shakletons.
In passing let it be stated that many a footsore doughboy helped himself to a dry pair of boots from a dead Red Guard or in winter to a pair of valenkas, or warm felt boots.
It was hard to realize that all these men were tried and seasoned fighters, ready to "go and get the Hun at the drop of a hat." "What's doing in the way of a camp entertainment to-night?" asked Frank of one burly doughboy, who was contentedly munching a huge piece of cake. "I understand there's going to be a movie show," replied the latter.
Here they could find literature and lectures and lounging room and for a few roubles often gained a hot plate of good soup or a delicacy in the shape of a horse steak. Of course the latter was always a little dubious to the American doughboy, for in walking the street he too often saw the poor horse that dropped dead from starvation or overdriving, approached by the butcher with the long knife.
"You fellows go back," he said. "We don't need you now." When they stared uncomprehending, he asked: "Polly voo Francy?" "We, we!" cried they in one voice. "Well, then," said the doughboy, "go back! Go home! Toot sweet! Have sleep! Rest! We lick 'em Heinies!"
Or on the open road in the night: solemn again the mood of the doughboy as he recollects some of those lonely night rides. Here on his back in the hay of the little sled he reclines muffled in blankets and robes, his driver hidden in his great bearskin parki, or greatcoat, hidden all but his two piercing eyes, his nose and whiskers that turned up to shield his face.
Jimmie strolled in, and there was a doughboy with whom he had had some chat on the transport. This doughboy had been a printer at home, and he had agreed with Jimmie that maybe a whole lot of politicians and newspaper editors didn't really understand President Wilson's radical thought, and so far as they did understand it, hated and feared it.
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