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Love Letters of a Rookie to Julie by Barney Stone

Produced by Michelle Croyle, William Flis, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

LOVE LETTERS

OF A

ROOKIE

TO JULIE

_BY_ BARNEY STONE

HEADQUARTERS CO., 119 F.A. A.E.F.

ILLUSTRATIONS _BY_ GORDON ROSS

Copyright 1919 by

THE SHERWOOD CO.

All rights reserved

To--

R.E.S., whose Suggestions made these pages possible and palatable.

[Illustration: ME ON GUARD]

_DERE JULIE_

IN CAMP (Somewhere between the Kitchen and the lunch counter).

Dere Julie,

Well, hear I am in camp after being "rough-housed on the rattlers" for 1 day and 2 nites; I was so shook-up that I'm like a loose button on an overcoat--no wheres in particular.

The most vivid impression in my bean is our interview in the hall-way of your flat the night (or was it morning) when we bid each other a fond fare-thee-well. Never will I forget them tender and loving words you spoke, also will I remember them words spoke, by the guy on the second floor, NOT so tender; how was we to know you were backed up against the push button of his bell? When a boob like him lives in a flat in wartime he ought to be made to muffle his bell after 10 p.m. I'm gonna rite the Pres. about this.

Our going away was some deeparture; I'll bet a small piece of change that every fair young damsel on the block was present--and some damsels not so young and fair. The old maid who grabbed onto me had seen about 40 summers and heavings knows how many winters; she was so crosseyed that if she had pulled a weep the tears would have run down the back of her neck. It was her last chance to grab a man and believe you me, she made use of the opportunity.

Well angel face, here I am a buck private fur fair, but believe you me, I'd rather be a private with a chicken on my knee than a kernel with an eagle on my shoulder; and I'd rather have any shoulder on a bar than a bar on my shoulder any time.

Yours loving dough-boy,

BARNEY.

P.S.--I don't know why they call us dough boys, for thirty per aint much "dough," is it angel face?

[Illustration: "How wuz I to know you wuz agin the push button of his bell."]

Same Camp.

(Not on the map.)

Dere Julie,

Many thanks, my cherrie (that's French), fur the lovely cake you sent me, but believe you me deary, I didn't get a smell of it. I got the box about 6 p.m. opened it at 6;01, and at 6;011/2 our band played the Star Spangled Banner and all us fellows had to stand at attention; by the time they had finished, our company mascot, a billy goat camouflaged with a bunch of whiskers and an unshaven glue factory breath gobbled the whole blooming business.


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