You've had
to do it, Sam."
"Yes," said Sam, ruefully; "it's a fair teaser."
"And if you write to one and miss another they're offended," continued
Bill. "But I always mention all of 'em. I say 'love to Sarah,' and 'hope
Aunt Jane's cold's better,' and that sort of thing, and that fills out a
page. But I'm blowed if I can find anything else to say. I just begin
'hoping this finds you well, as it leaves me at present,' and then I'm
done. What else is there to say?"
"Nothing," said Sam, mournfully. "I just sit and scratch my head over the
blessed paper, but nothing'll come. Seems as though my head's as empty as a
drum."
"Same here. 'Tisn't like writing love-letters. When I was up to that game
'twas easy enough. When I got stuck I just put in half a page of crosses,
and that filled up fine. But writing to mother and the missus and Sarah and
Jim and the rest is different. You can't fill up with crosses. It would
look ridiklus."
"It would," said Sam.
Then the train began to move, and the soldier in the train sank back on his
seat, took out a cigarette, and began to smoke.
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