Tell those things to the boys who haven't had your chance to take a course in Uncle Sam's big war college.
You'll find some of them still standing outside the corner drug store just as they were when you left town.
They'll try to tell you again that clap's no worse than a bad cold, that you have to go with women if you want to be well, that it's all right to go with a whore if you pick a clean one.
But you'll know what to say to them when they pull that old stuff on you now. You'll ask them what regiment they belonged to, and you'll see them go slinking away.
You'll know what to say to the folks who are running the town, too, if they've not cleaned it up while you were away. You'll tell them that a town which still permits prostitutes and sporting-houses is a slacker town, a hundred years behind the times.
It doesn't matter how many stars such a town had in its service flag or how many times it went over the top in the Liberty Loan; it still has a black mark against its
