"That's me all over, Mable" — Edition Insights
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The source record for "That's me all over, Mable" — Edition Insights measures this digital text at 18,209 words, 1 hr 20 min estimated reading time, and 2 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 14.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “World War, 1914-1918 -- Humor, caricatures, etc.,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
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Lieutenant thought he was in the audience department or somethin cause right away after the Captin left he came down and said now he was goin to make a battery out of us. I told him I knew where there was a good dry cell just above New York. That fello wouldnt laff though, Mable, if Joe Miller hisself told him a joke. All he thinks of is smoothin out horses.
The feelin between me and the horses seems to grow worse every day, Mable. I think my horse has got me mixed up with somebody else. I never did nothin to him except bring him down some of my breakfast one morning. The sargent is always tellin me to pick up his feet. I tell him theres no call for that. He seems to be able to do it pretty well all by hisself. He has em in the air most of the time when Im around.
He kept pesterin me though till the other day I thought Id show him I could do it. I put his front foot through the spokes of a wheel and tied it then grabbed the back one and gave an awful heave. Its a way Ive worked out for handlin bad horses. I figured hed have to be pretty good to stan on one leg and kick me with the other. But when he found he couldnt kick me he lay down on top of me. Mean, Ill tell the world.
Now the stable sargent says I hurt the horse. Thats stable sargents all over. If the horse had bit my head off hed have thought it was an awful joke. All I say is that Im not as strong as a horse even if I did win a lot of cups at high school an if I can stand on to legs a horse can to only hes to lazy.
Max Glucos and Angus and me goes over to see the mountin ear what sells Bevo once in a while. Were tryin to catch him some day when hes wild. He aint been wild so far ceptin one day when we forgot to pay him. Angus says they only get wild certain times of the year. Angus wont drink Bevo. He says it looks the same and tastes the same but it aint got the same influence with him.
The mountin ears hate niggers. This one has been tryin to get us to go on what he calls a coon hunt ever since we been up here. Were goin with him this week. They hunt them at night. I suppose thats so you cant see them so well. He takes the dogs sos they can smell the coon. I guess the mountin ears got a cold. The coon climbs a tree, then you cut the tree down and then the coon of course has to come down to. I wonder what they do with them when they get them. It seems foolish to go to all that trouble when you can find a dozen of them in every little house you come to.
Angus has got a rubber bath tub sent him. He thinks its great cause you can fold it so small it goes in your pocket. Who wants to carry a bath tub in there pockets? I guess its a skotch custom. Perhaps they take it out while there waiting for a street car and take a bath. Angus likes it cause he can sit down in it. When he does it fits him like it was tailor made. All the rest of the bath slides off him onto the floor or into my shoes.
Well Mable I got to quit now and help out one of the sargents what has a job cleanin some harness. Hes a nice fello and he asked me to come down about two hours ago. I guess Ill go down now and see if there through. Willin. Thats me all over.
Its so foggy that we cant fire at the range. I dont see what difference that makes though. I havnt seen nothin since we started but a bunch of trees in front of the guns. Im goin to rite you a letter if the top sargent dont remember that he aint put me on no detail. We leave the guns out all night. Just sos well have somethin more to guard I guess. Were supposed to take turns guarding. As far as I can make out that means me and the rest of the battery altercate every other night. I suppose they think some of the mountin ears is goin to take one of the guns and go drivin with it. Angus MacKenzie, the skotch fello, says they have to guard em sos they wont go off. That sounds kind of silly to me though, Mable.
I been raisin a mustash. That is I was till yesterday when I cut it off while I was shavin and thinkin of you. I was sorry cause it was comin good. You could see it as plain as day with the naked eye. (Thats just an expreshun, Mable.) In a couple of places I could catch hold of it. They say nothin grows very good down here, though, but cotton. I guess I'll wait until I get to France.
The Lieutenant told us today that when we got over there wed all have to read meters. I cant see what thats got to do with artillery. That used to be Max Glucoses business though. Hes teaching me how. He thinks maybe if we study theyll make us meter spechulists. Spechulists dont have to get up so early. Angus says he thinks they put meters on the gas shells. That shows how systumatic they are.
And they say there goin to give us Infield rifles. I think they got it mixed up with base ball. It seems as though when you join the artillery you join everything else at the same time. I suppose the next thing theyll do is learn us a little navigashun.
Ive started savin again Mable for the little white house with the green blinds. Last month I saved a dollar eighty six ($1.86). That with five dollars ($5) I borrowed from Joe Loomis makes almost seven ($7) dollars. I aint the kind of a fello thats always bothering his girl with money matters. I believe in keepin business out of the home. Close. Thats me all over, Mable. But in the bigger things I think you ought to know how we stand.
We may have to go at the house kind of gradual. Buy the blinds first say. But theys one thing about it. Ive been ruffing it so long in the army that there aint no kind of hardship thatll bother me.
The mountin ears has funny customs, Mable, and yello dogs without any stummucks. Angus an I was out ridin last Sunday lookin for a still an got cold. We stopped at a cabin an a fello came out with a round hair cut an says "Howdy boys, wont ye light an strip?" Angus says that he didnt have no figger for that but wed come in an get warm. Eh Mable?
Once in a while when we cant eat what the cook gives us which is most of the time we go down the road to a mountin ears wife what makes pan cakes. She always carries a kid under her arm like an over coat. It looks as if the kids head was on the stove most of the time. Angus says she greases the griddle with it. I dont know about that, but the mountin ears is awful tough people.
Me an some of the other fellos went to a mountin ears party in a little town near here the other night. There was a lot of girls there with funny noses. When they saw us they all ran in a corner and laffed at us. That made me kind of sore cause we hadnt invited ourselves but been ast. The lady that ast us said the girls had there old close on and was ready for anything. We played old maid till half past nine. Then the lady what ast us brought in a bowl of apples and our hats. She said the girls was all nice and they couldnt galyvant round all night and get talked about.
The Lieutenant told us that in a couple of weeks the whole artillery brigade is comin up an there goin to have a garage fire. I told him if he knew about it so far ahead that there wasnt no excuse for such a thing. Though I should think that would be all a garage would be good for around here. You cant tell the Lieutenant nothin though since the Captin went to Fort Silly to learn something and left him in charge of the battery. I think the authority has gone to his head. Angus says its gone where its least crowded.
I read the other day, Mable, that there makin the cups rough on the bottom now so youll think theres sugar in them. They cant fool me though. Quick. Thats me all over.
Dont feel you got to stop nittin me things just because I cant use them now. You cant tell when well have another winter. Besides it gives you somethin to think about when you sittin talkin.
Im sending you a new piece on the phoneygraph that I got in the ten cent store. Its called "look out Germany, I am comin." It gives you an idea of the way I feel. I got to stop now an go an see some fellos in another battery. I just herd the top sargent blow his whissle.
yours till I rite again
I would have rote you before this only the fellos in my tent is too tite to buy any paper. It wouldnt take much, though, to tell you what I been doin. If I ever rote a book about my adventures same as that fellow Empty what rote the book called "Over the top and go to Hell" it would run in competeshun with the Manual of Inferior Guard. Im gettin so I can only sleep four hours at a time. The only trouble is that it works the other way. When I do happen to miss a day not bein on guard I have to go to sleep after I work for two hours. Of course that interferes with the drill skedule, Mable, but you cant explain nothing to a top sargent.
I overslept the other mornin. I didn't here the horn. I dont see how they expect a fello to here the horn if hes a sleep. If he herd it hed be awake. I got out before they started firin anyway. I had to go without breakfast to do it. I wasnt goin to complain about that, though. Soldierin every minit. Thats me all over, Mable. The Lieutenant got awful sore. I guess he was mad cause hed got up earlier than he had to. He said he was goin to prefer charges and asked me what I had to say. I told him every man to his taste and if he was askin my opinion Id prefer to go back to bed. Awful excitable fello, the Lieutenant.
I saw a letter on the tops desk yesterday about the meddles a fello can get now. Theys all kinds of different ones. Somes from Congress and somes from the Ward Apartment. Im goin to rite my congresman as soon as I finish this letter and get a bunch of them. Of course I wouldnt wear them till I do somethin pretty good but I figure out that itll take so long to get em over there that it would be better to get em now and take em over with me.
Im goin to tell the congresman to that as far as Im concerned Id like to go to France as soon as I can. Its gettin nice and warm now for travelin. I want to see the Champs Eliza. Thats a street in Paris that was named after Queen Elizabeth. But thats history, Mable, I dont suppose you understand. They tell me its even better lookin than Broadway or Fortysecond (42nd) street.
I saw in the Sarahcuse papers that they thought the artillery was goin there to expand. If I expand any more, Mable, Im going to bust my belt. I dont know why it is. I dont eat nothin outside of meal hours exceptin a few pies and the like but I get fatter and fatter. I never think of eatin when Im not hungry like some fellos. A fello what does that is makin a pig out of hisself I think.
Angus MacKenzie, the skotch fello, was out guardin the guns with me the other night. He went to sleep on an aunt hill. I guess the aunts thought he was a new mountin or somethin cause they was all standin on him the next mornin. To look at the sunrise I says, eh Mable? Angus didnt seem to care though. He says Napoleun had the same thing happen to him and was always tellin how an army traveled on his stummick. Nepoleun, Mable, is the fello that Washington licked. They named that three colored ice cream after him.
All day long while were firin, Mable, a fello from Brigade headquarters stands near the guns and looks through a big glass with horns on it. I guess hes to lazy to hold it hisself so he brings out camera legs and puts them under it. He looks through the glass and seems to see a lot of numbers that he tells to a fello what stands beside him. I dont see where he sees them. I looked through the glass the other day while he was eatin lunch and I couldnt see a thing except the side of the hill. Then he came back and looked through it and read off a string of them. The fello beside him rites down everything he says. I looked over his shoulder the other day. It looked more like a Jewish curse to me than anything else.
The Lieutenant came down the other day and told us to get all shined up cause the Sanitary inspector was comin out to look us over. I thought hed be all dressed up in white with white tennis shoes like fancy bakers and sanitary barber shops. He wasnt though. He just had on a regular uniform. I didnt think he was speshully sanitary. It may have been sunburn though. I couldnt tell from where I stood.
He had a fello with him they said was from the audience department. I know now why they call it the audience department. All they do is come round and watch us work. Thats a branch I didnt know about till after Id joined this.
Well, Mable, I got to quit now and go and look at the Guard rooster to see if I answer sick call tomorrow mornin. They say the Germans is raisin the dickins. I wish theyd hurry up and get me over there.
yours eternally, in haste
I thought Id rite you and let you know they wasnt nothing particular to say. Theyve called off the firin for a few days till they can get some more amunishun. If theyd only scatter a few Germans out there it wouldnt be such an awful waste. Ive fired so much now I guess I could fire anything. Tell your mother the first thing Im going to do when I get home is fire the cook. Same old card, eh Mable?
Its nice and warm here now. We havnt used the Sibly stove for a week exceptin to keep our dirty wash in. An old nigger comes round once a week and takes it out. I cant figger that nigger out, Mable. From the looks of the wash he brings back he thinks I only got one leg and from the looks of the bill he hands me he thinks Im a sentapeed. Angus says hes not all there hisself. Thats why he loses so much.
We had a boxing fight the other night. The Lieutenant says they increase the moral. I dont think they do the non coms no good though when they see the wallop some of the fellos in their squad has got. Joe Loomis has been talkin so much about how he could lick the whole divishun with one hand behind his back that we got him to go in. I put some money on him at his advice.
I guess he made his mistake in not tyin his hand. Somebody told me he was fast. He was. He outran the other fello all the way. Angus says they ought to make speshul fighting rings with banked corners sos fighters could make better time.
Joe thinks he won yet. He says if he hadnt slipped and fell out of the ring on his elbow hed have nocked that fellos head offen his shoulders so hard it would have hurt somebody. Im glad I borrowed the money I bet on him. It might have been a total loss.
Im going to ask the Lieutenant to make me a bugler, Mable, sos I can find where buglers go between meals. Nobody ever sees a bugler except at mess and on payday. Ive asked a lot of fellos but nobody knows what becomes of them. I wouldnt want to be a bugler all the time. Its two much strain on a fellos face. As soon as I find out where they go Ill transfer back as a fighter.
I went into town the other night, Mable, and went to a dinner that me and a lot of other fellos was ast to. I sat next to a lady what didnt seem to have much on but a lot of jewels as far as I could see. Of course she was sittin at the table, Mable. I looked the other way all the time I was talkin to her cause I didnt want to embarass her. I was going to offer her my coat but I didnt see why I should take cold if she wanted to.
We didnt talk much. Once she looked at me for a long time and then says "You know, Mr. Smith, every time I take a hot bath I feel very guilty." All I said was "Because youre not sharing it with somebody I suppose." Then we didnt talk much again.
There was a lady across the table with turtle-hide eye glasses what was collectin things for the sufferin in the Palacestein. I asked her why she didnt put an add in the paper askin everybody to send in there old brown derbies. Nobody got it though. I was the only one at the whole table that a got a laugh out of it.
Angus MacKenzie, the skotch fello was there. He says he likes that kind of a party. He is always full of get up and go from the minute he gets there.
I never saw so many dying relatives in my life as is comin by telegram every day. Have you got an epidermic or somethin up north, Mable? It seems as if everybody I know had been home at least once to help his grandmother die. None of em seem to care much for their relatives, though, from the way they act when there startin home to watch them pass away. I asked the Lieutenant for a furlo. He wouldnt give it to me. Got it in for me just like the Captin did. I wish youd telegraph him that you died quietly and couldnt I come up for the funeral "on or about" the middle of the month.
While we was firin at the range the other day a couple of fellos rode out by the targets lookin for shells. It was the first time wed seen anything worth while firin at. Everybody was right on there toes. I guess the Lieutenant didnt see em though cause he had us cease firin. Dopy. Thats the way he is all the time. I dont see how were ever going to learn nothin if we dont ceaze our opportunities.
I dont guess theres any use in my askin you if your havin a good time. I dont see how you could be under the circumstances. Just make the best of it Mable and as soon as me and the rest of the fellos can get things straightened out Ill come back and paint the canoe again.
until then yours faithfully _Bill_.
The book opens with a letter from Bill to Mable, announcing his transfer from the infantry back into the artillery. The voice is immediately distinctive: deliberately misspelled, colloquial, and self-deprecating. Bill claims the artillery is more dangerous because you stand still, while in the infantry you run around. He also notes the captain was jealous of him, a recurring pattern of self-aggrandizement undercut by comic failure.
The structure is epistolary, each letter beginning with "Dere Mable" and ending with a postscript. The letters jump between training episodes, such as firing at a range for three months without hitting anything, and then accidentally firing at the infantry. The humor relies on Bill's misinterpretation of military terms—like "garage fire" for barrage—and his obliviousness to his own incompetence.
Epistolary Structure and Voice
The book is composed entirely of letters from Bill to Mable, each beginning with the salutation "Dere Mable" and ending with a postscript. This format creates a direct, intimate tone, as if the reader is eavesdropping on a private correspondence. Bill's voice is marked by phonetic spelling ("fello," "Captin," "applicashun"), grammatical errors, and a rambling, stream-of-consciousness style. He often contradicts himself within a single letter, claiming both bravery and caution. The letters are not dated, but they follow a loose chronological progression from training in the U.S. to deployment in France, though the excerpts only cover stateside training. The postscripts frequently undercut the main narrative, adding a punchline or a new, often embarrassing, detail.
Recurring Images of Misunderstanding
Bill consistently misinterprets military terminology and procedures. He thinks a "garage fire" is a literal fire, not a barrage. He becomes "battery agent" and tries to sell pop and crackers to soldiers during firing practice. He wonders why audience officers wear spurs, and Angus MacKenzie explains it's to keep their feet from sliding off the desk. These misunderstandings are not just jokes; they highlight the gap between official army language and a recruit's practical experience. The image of the pup tent—"like the roof of a dog house without the house"—recurs as a symbol of inadequate equipment. Bill notes that the only thing the tent does to rain is "strain it," a vivid, tactile detail that grounds the humor in physical discomfort.
Movement Between Scenes
The letters move rapidly between settings: the artillery range, the camp, the mess hall, and the pup tent area. Transitions are abrupt, often signaled by a new letter or a shift in topic. For example, one letter describes firing at the range; the next begins with returning from the range. This episodic structure mirrors the disjointed experience of training, where days blur together. Bill's attention flits from one absurdity to another—from the failure to hit the target to the story of Joe Loomis backing over a rubber plant. The illustrations by G. William Breck, listed in the front matter, punctuate these scenes, offering visual punchlines to the written humor. The movement is not linear but associative, driven by Bill's whims and the army's unpredictable schedule.
Self-Presentation and Comic Failure
Bill presents himself as a capable, intelligent soldier thwarted by incompetent superiors. He claims the captain was jealous, that he could have been an officer, and that Washington might send for him. Yet every action undercuts this self-image: he fails to hit the target, misinterprets orders, and eats the pop he was supposed to sell. His bravado is punctured by his own narration, as when he says he's not scared of anything "except the measles." The humor derives from the gap between Bill's self-assessment and reality. He is "high spirited," as he says, but also oblivious. This pattern of self-aggrandizement followed by comic failure is the book's central structural device, repeated in nearly every letter. The reader is invited to laugh at Bill, not with him, though his voice remains oddly endearing.
The letters offer a ground-level view of World War I training, filtered through a deliberately naive narrator. Readers should attend to the tension between Bill's self-image and his actual performance, as well as the recurring motifs of misunderstanding and physical discomfort. The illustrations by Breck, though not reproduced here, are integral to the humor, often depicting the scenes Bill describes. This is not a war story of heroism but a comedy of errors, rooted in the specific language and routines of the American Expeditionary Forces.
That rainy afternoon, the soldier’s letters had me chuckling at his misspelled complaints about the mud. After closing the book, I lingered on the quiet fear beneath his jokes—how the war waited at the margins. The thought drifted me toward Caught by the Turks — Background and Themes, another voice from that same sideways angle, just as personal, just as unvarnished.
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