course he recovered. Few wounds are fatal to such a spirit.
The football weather still held—crisp, bracing air and fine footing for the infantry. As we approached the front the roads grew poorer and more congested, and numerous signs in French and English warned drivers to mind their p's and q's.
The praises of the truck-driver are little sung, but they ought to be flung on high. The truck-driver works till midnight along muddy roads, in pitch darkness, grappling refractory carburetors with fingers aching with cold. He snatches a little sleep on the seat of his truck—if he is lucky—and is off again at three in the morning. If he fails, the army fails, for he carries the army's stomach. If he loses his temper and wastes a precious minute cursing his stalled engine, miles and miles of other trucks are likewise stopped for a minute and the Boche gains a respite. In those last days, with the Germans retreating rapidly, the strain on our trucks and truck-drivers was tremendous. We were afraid we would lose our advantage and give the Hun a breathing-space through sheer inability to keep up with him, for it is easier to fall back over prepared paths than to advance over shelled roads and mined bridges. But we managed to hang on to Fritz, although once trucks were
