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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 128 pages of information about The Khaki Boys over the Top.

“Deer Mother.  In bed am i and a pritty lady she bring to me all i can eats good, i was not shooted like is some of thee soljiers, but on me fell rocks and stoanes so i was moastly mushed but Roger and jimmee thay gat me oaut. i tell you of loav for yon i have mauch. soon i go fightting agen wich is batter than in hoarse-pottle bein. i got bumps an kuts but noat mooch alse. jimee he is to give me soam moaney what he gat for killing a bad germans and wen i gats my share to you i it sand will yet. good-bye deer Mother from your loafing soan Iggy.”

“That’s a dandy letter!” declared Jimmy when he had finished reading it.  “I’ll get it right off for you, Iggy.”

“Better writing I am doing yes, is it not?” anxiously inquired the Polish lad.

“You bet!” declared Bob, and his eyes, as well as those of his chums, were moist, for there was a pathetic note in the missive, in spite of its queerness.

“He knew enough to use a capital now and then, which is more than he did at Camp Sterling,” declared Bob, when they had left the hospital, to go back to their stations.

“You didn’t tell him that his share of the five thousand francs, as well as yours and ours, was missing; did you?” inquired Franz.

“What was the use?” asked Jimmy.  “Poor Iggy has troubles enough as it is.  But he’ll get his share all right to send home.”

“Just like Jimmy Blazes,” declared Roger to Bob, afterward.

It was three or four days after this that Iggy was able to leave the hospital, and take his place with his chums.

“The five Brothers are together again!” cried Jimmy, when the reunion took place.  “Now let the Huns tremble!”

“By golly yes!” declared the Polish lad.  “I fight can now like three soldiers, so much did they give me eats in the hoarspottle.  A fine place she is—­tha hoarspottle.

“But the longer we can keep out of such places as hospitals the better,” remarked Jimmy.  “Now then, Iggy, what is it you want most?”

“Well, Blazes, if you excuse me—­but you did say you would the reward moany crack among us.  No, it was not crack; he was a word—­”

“Split!” suggested Bob.

“Yas.  Him it was.  You say you split him—­that moany, Jimmy, and if I could to my mothar send what you say you give me—­maybe she of need have for him now.”

Jimmy looked queerly at his chums.  Truth to tell he had scarcely any cash at present, and to give Iggy his share of the five thousand francs—­about two hundred dollars—­was out of the question.

Bob took the financial bull by the horns.

“Look here, Iggy,” he said.  “Jimmy has played hard luck.  He had that money but—­”

“Doan’t tell me he is loss!” cried Iggy.  “Oh, doan’t tell me he is loss!  I so much think of that two hundred dollars—­mine fader or mine mothar never so much have at once see in all their lives.  Two hundred dollar—­Oh if he is loss—­”

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