Title:  Love Letters of a Rookie to Julie

Author:  Barney Stone

Release Date:  April 4, 2005 [EBook #15544]

Language:  English

Character set encoding:  ASCII

*** Start of this project gutenberg EBOOK love letters of A rookie to Julie ***

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.”]