He was not an
educated lad, but he was a wonderfully sincere boy, and he pleaded his
cause well. He had been treated so well by the "Y" that he wanted his
uncle to give all his spare cash to that great organization. This is
the letter:
"DEAR UNCLE:
"This here Y. M. C. A. is the goods. They give you chocolate when
you're goin' into the trenches and they gives you chocolate when you're
comin' out and they don't charge you nothin' for it neither. If you
are givin' any money don't you give it to none of them Red Crosses nor
to none of them Salvation Armies, nor to none of them Knights of
Columbuses; but you give it to them Y. M. C. A.'s. They treat you
right. They have entertainments for you and wrestlin' matches, and
they give you a place to write. And what's more, Uncle _they don't
have no respect fer no religion_.
"Yours,
"BILL."
Yes, France is full of Silhouettes of Sunshine. There was the eloquent
Y. M. C. A. secretary. And while he didn't exactly know it, he too was
adding his unconscious ray of light to a dull and desolate world.
The Gothas had come over Paris the night before, and so had a group of
some one hundred and fifty new secretaries. The Gothas had played
havoc with two blocks of buildings on a certain Paris street because of
the fact that the bombs they dropped had severed the gas-mains.
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