3 September, ’17.

I have had no mail from any one, from the Battn. or anything. I guess that is because I have moved around so quickly. I still don’t know what happened when they went over, that morning. The fellows here from the 29th were casualties in earlier scraps — just minor affairs. I have written F., also K., and another fellow. It is useless writing again; things change so quickly out there, any or all of them may be dead, or in Hospital, or where they can’t write. It’s rotten not knowing what has happened to F. It is useless to worry, yet I can’t help it. He and I were real friends. I only hope he got a nice one. It is the best thing you can wish any one out there — and indeed I cannot see how he could possibly go through the recent stuff and get nothing. I only hope it wasn’t a napoo.