I should have been warned by a gleam that I saw in his eyes, but was
not. I said: "So you see that it's a good thing to be carrying a Bible
around in your pocket?"
"Yes, that saved my life last week," he said impressively. Then he
showed me the hole in his blouse where it had hit. The hole was still
torn and ragged. In the meantime I was opening what I thought was his
Bible.
It was a deck of cards.
I can hear that fine American lad's laughter yet. It rang like the
bells of the old cathedral itself, in the shadow of which we stood.
His laughter startled the group of old men playing checkers on a park
bench into forgetting their game and joining in the fun. Everybody
stopped to see what the fun was about. That lad had a good one on the
secretary, and he was enjoying it as much as the secretary himself.
Then he said: "Now I'll tell you a good story to make up for fooling
you."
"You had better," I said with a sheepish grin.
Then he began:
"There was a fellow named Rosenbaum brought in with me last week to the
Paris hospital, wounded in three places. They put me beside him and he
told me his story.
"It was at Belleau Wood and the Americans were plunging through to the
other side driving the Boche before them. This Jewish boy is from New
York City, and one of the favorites of the whole marine outfit.
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