found that the strip between Germantown avenue and Front street was buzzing with preparations for a "block party" in honor and benefit of its boys in service. All down the gay little vista flags were hanging out, Chinese lanterns had been strung on wires across the street, shop windows were crisscrossed with red, white and blue streamers and booths were going up on the pavement swathed in tricolored tissue paper. At one end of the block the curbstones had been whitewashed. We stopped to ask an elderly lady when the fun would begin.
"Tonight and tomorrow night," she said. (It was then Friday afternoon.) "Our boys are fighting for us and we want to do everything we can to help. I was at my summer residence when I heard about this party, and I came back at once. We've got to help as best we can."
The sky was clouding over and the Mountaineer and I expressed the hope that rain wouldn't spoil the festivity.
"Oh, I hope not," she said. "It doesn't seem as though the Lord would send rain when we're working for a good cause. We've hired a string band for the two nights—that's $60—and we're going to have dancing in the street. You'd better come around. It's going to be a great time."
Everybody in the street was busy with preparations for the jollification, and I was deeply touched by this little community's expression of gratitude and confidence in its boys who are fighting. That
