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[Illustration: THEY PERFECTED THEMSELVES IN THE USE OF THE RIFLE AND
THE BAYONET.]




                            THE MOTOR BOYS
                              IN THE ARMY

                                  OR

                   Ned, Bob and Jerry as Volunteers


                                  BY

                            CLARENCE YOUNG

             AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES,” “THE JACK
                         RANGER SERIES,” ETC.


                              ILLUSTRATED


                               NEW YORK
                        CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY




BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Colored Jacket.


=THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES=

  THE MOTOR BOYS
  THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND
  THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO
  THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
  THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT
  THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC
  THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS
  THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC
  THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS
  THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE ROCKIES
  THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE OCEAN
  THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE WING
  THE MOTOR BOYS AFTER A FORTUNE
  THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE BORDER
  THE MOTOR BOYS UNDER THE SEA
  THE MOTOR BOYS ON ROAD AND RIVER
  THE MOTOR BOYS AT BOXWOOD HALL
  THE MOTOR BOYS ON A RANCH
  THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE ARMY
  THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
  THE MOTOR BOYS BOUND FOR HOME


=THE JACK RANGER SERIES=

  JACK RANGER’S SCHOOLDAYS
  JACK RANGER’S WESTERN TRIP
  JACK RANGER’S SCHOOL VICTORIES
  JACK RANGER’S OCEAN CRUISE
  JACK RANGER’S GUN CLUB
  JACK RANGER’S TREASURE BOX


  Copyright, 1918, by
  Cupples & Leon Company


  =The Motor Boys in the Army=

  Printed in U. S. A.




CONTENTS


 CHAPTER                             PAGE
      I THE FIRE ALARM                  1
     II THE RUNAWAY ENGINE              9
    III “JUST AS EASY!”                16
     IV CROOKED NOSE                   24
      V THE ODD MAN                    33
     VI FIRST CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS      42
    VII CHUNKY’S TROUBLE               51
   VIII A PRO-GERMAN MEETING           59
     IX A FIGHT IN THE DARK            68
      X THE PARTING                    79
     XI OFF TO CAMP DIXTON             85
    XII PUG KENNEDY                    91
   XIII IN THE CAMP                   100
    XIV SOMEWHAT DIFFERENT            108
     XV IN UNIFORM                    117
    XVI HOT WORDS                     125
   XVII A MIDNIGHT MEETING            132
  XVIII A STAB IN THE BACK            141
    XIX A CAVE-IN                     152
     XX A PRACTICE MARCH              159
    XXI CROOKED NOSE AGAIN            166
   XXII THE ACCUSATION                174
  XXIII THE MINSTREL SHOW             183
   XXIV A BLACK-FACE PURSUIT          190
    XXV “A PRISONER”                  197
   XXVI A NIGHT ALARM                 207
  XXVII THE HAND GRENADE              213
 XXVIII THE STORM                     223
   XXIX IN THE OLD BARN               229
    XXX THE ROUND-UP                  237




NED, BOB AND JERRY IN THE ARMY




CHAPTER I

THE FIRE ALARM


“You’re going, aren’t you, Ned?”

“Surest thing you know!”

“Will you be there, Bob?”

“Of course, Jerry. It ought to be quite a meeting, I should say.”

“You said something!” exclaimed Ned Slade, with an air of conviction.
“Things will whoop up in great shape. Why, there hasn’t been so much
excitement in Cresville since I can remember.”

“Not since the old lumberyard burned,” added Jerry Hopkins, as he
walked down the street, one arm linked in that of Ned Slade on his
left, and the other hooked up with Bob Baker’s on his right. “It
doesn’t seem possible that we’ve been drawn into this, after all the
President did to keep us out; but it’s true.”

“Of course it’s true!” exclaimed Ned. “The President goes before
Congress and asks for the whole strength of the nation to back him up,
and defy Germany. And he gets it, too!”

“That’s what he does,” added Jerry. “It’s one of the strongest
declarations about the war I ever read; and we’ve had a chance to read
a few in the last two years. America against Germany! I never expected
it, but, now it’s come, we’ll have to get in it good and strong.”

“And we’ve got to hustle, too!” added Bob Baker.

“That’ll be something new for you, Chunky!” observed Jerry Hopkins,
with a chuckle. “You’re getting fatter than ever,” and he caught some
of his friend’s superfluous flesh between thumb and finger and made Bob
squirm.

“Quit it!” the latter begged. “What do you think I’m made of, anyhow?”

“I was just trying to find out,” answered Jerry, innocently. “’Tisn’t
as firm as it might be, but when we get back to Boxwood Hall, and you
have a little tennis or football to harden you up, I think you’ll feel
better.”

“I’d feel better right now if you’d quit pinching me!” exclaimed the
tormented one. “Try it on Ned a bit.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need waking up,” laughed Jerry. “But say, do we need
tickets for this meeting to-night?”

“I don’t believe so,” remarked Bob, whose nickname of Chunky fitted
him well. “But let’s go down the street and read one of the notices.
There’s one in front of Porter’s drug store. And while we’re there we
can----”

“Get chocolate sodas! I know you were going to say that!” broke in
Ned. “Say, I thought you were on a diet, Chunky. The idea of taking
chocolate! Don’t you know it’s fattening?”

“Who said anything about chocolate sodas?” demanded the fat one. “I
didn’t mention it!” and he glared at Ned. But Jerry was between the two.

“I know you didn’t, little one!” returned Ned sweetly. “But you were
going to, and I made it easy for you. However, I don’t believe one
chocolate will hurt you; and since you are going to buy----”

“Who said I was?” demanded Bob.

“Why, didn’t you?” asked Ned, with an assumption of innocence. “I’m
sure I heard Chunky invite us to have sodas. Didn’t you, Jerry?”

“Sure!” was the ready answer. “Don’t try to back out, Bob. It’s too
late.”

“Well, it’s of no use trying to buck up against a conspiracy like
this,” sighed the stout youth. “I guess I’ve got the price,” and he
rattled some change in his pocket.

The trio of lads, nodding now and then to acquaintances they passed,
kept on down the street until they reached Porter’s drug store. In the
window was a placard announcing a patriotic meeting to be held in the
auditorium that evening, for the purpose, as it stated, of:

    “_Upholding President Wilson, and proving to him that Cresville
    approves of his course in declaring a state of war with Germany
    exists._”

“No tickets needed,” read Jerry. “It’s a case of first come first
served, I guess.”

They entered the drug store, and soon were being served, talking, the
while, of the coming patriotic meeting.

“Colonel Wentworth is going to preside,” announced Ned.

“Yes, and there’ll be enough rhetorical fireworks to stock a
battleship,” observed Jerry.

“Well, the old soldier means all right,” added Bob, who seemed to be of
a kind and mellow disposition, now that he was having something to eat.
Eating, as may have been guessed, was one of Chunky’s strong points.
“There isn’t a more patriotic citizen than Colonel Wentworth,” went on
the stout youth, stirring his chocolate ice-cream soda to mix it well
before drinking. “He did his share in the Spanish war, and now he’s
anxious to volunteer again, I hear.”

“He’s a little too old, isn’t he?” asked Ned.

“Yes, but he’s in fine shape. Well, we’ll go to the meeting, anyhow,
and help whoop things up.”

“That’s right!” chimed in Jerry Hopkins. “These are the days to show
your colors.”

It will be evident to the reader that the period of the opening of this
story was in the spring, following the announcement of war between the
United States and Germany.

Of the events leading up to that announcement nothing need be said
here, for they are too well known. But even though every one who had
closely followed the trend of thought and happenings, knew there was
nothing for an honor-loving and conscientious nation to do except take
the step advocated by President Wilson, still the actual declaration
that a state of war existed, when it was made, came as a shock.

Then followed the reaction. A reaction which resulted in the holding
of many meetings, in the organization of many societies and in new
activities in many that were already organized.

The New England town of Cresville, the home of Ned, Bob and Jerry, was
no exception to this rule. It was a progressive town, or small city
if you will, and numbered among its members citizens of worth and
patriotism. So it is not strange that a meeting should be called to
“back up” the President.

The meeting had its inception with Colonel Wentworth, a Son of the
Revolution, an officer in the Spanish-American war, where he had
fought with the regulars both in Cuba and in the Philippines, and
an all-around true-hearted and red-blooded American. He felt that
Cresville should make her position known, and in order to stir her
blood, as well as add fuel to his own, he proposed the holding of a
patriotic mass meeting, at which a number of speakers should be heard.
A United States Senator had promised to come and tell something of the
events leading up to the formal declaration of war.

Ned, Bob and Jerry, home from their college, Boxwood Hall, for the
Easter vacation, had read the notices of the meeting, and, having
followed with interest the course of events in America preceding the
entrance of the United States into the war and also having closely
observed the course of England, France, Russia and Italy against a
common enemy, had decided to attend the meeting.

They had planned to take a motor trip to a distant city, to attend a
concert by the Boxwood Hall Glee Club and a dance afterward, at which
the boys expected to meet some young ladies in whom they were more
than ordinarily interested. But when Jerry had seen the notices posted
for the patriotic rally he had said to his chums:

“Fellows, the dance racket is off! We’ve got to show ourselves at the
auditorium.”

“That’s right,” Ned had answered. “Dad’s a great friend of the
colonel’s, and he’s going with mother. He told me I ought to show
myself there, and I guess we’ll have to.”

So it was decided, and, a few hours after having been the guests of
Chunky at the soda fountain, Ned and Jerry, with their stout companion,
found themselves part of a throng at the door of the town auditorium, a
newly constructed meeting place.

“Some push!” exclaimed Ned, as he felt himself being carried forward in
the crush, for the doors had just been opened.

“It’s going to be a success all right,” added Jerry. “They’ll never get
’em all in!”

The hall was, indeed, filled, and standing room was at the proverbial
premium when Colonel Wentworth, visibly proud of the success of his
undertaking, advanced to welcome the gathering and to introduce the
first speaker.

There was the speaking usual at such a meeting, only this time it was
tinged with a deeper note of seriousness. America had not yet awakened
to the realization of what war really meant, and was going to mean.
And some of the speakers tried to bring this home to the people of
Cresville.

The meeting was rather long, and even though they were as full of fire,
zeal, energy and patriotism as any person there, Ned, Bob and Jerry,
after two hours of speech-making, began to wish themselves out of the
place. They felt they had done their duty, and were longing for a
little change, when it came, most unexpectedly.

They were sitting in the rear of the hall, close to the main entrance
doors, when Ned heard a sound that made him suddenly sit up.

“Hear that?” he asked, in a whisper, of Jerry.

“What?”

“Fire alarm! It’s from the box down near dad’s store! I’m going to see
what it is!”

He rose softly, so as not to disturb the speaker. The sound of the
alarm could be plainly heard. Bob and Jerry also arose and made their
way out, as did several others. An undercurrent of excitement seemed to
pervade the meeting. As the boys reached the door, there came from the
street a cry of fear.




CHAPTER II

THE RUNAWAY ENGINE


“Did you hear that?” asked Jerry of his two chums, when they were in
the anteroom of the auditorium, and could speak without disturbing the
meeting.

“Sounded as if some one was hurt,” added Ned.

A number of men and boys had come out at the same time as had the three
friends, and one of them now hurried to the door and looked down the
street. There were a number of electric lights, and, as the trees were
bare of leaves, a good view could be had.

“Look at that!” cried the man who had made the observation. “Look!”

“What is it?”

“The fire engine horses are running away!” was the excited answer. “The
driver’s been thrown off, and the horses are pulling the engine down
Hoyt street hill lickity-split! Say, there’ll be a smash-up all right!”

It did seem so, as Ned, Bob and Jerry noted a moment later, when
they hurried out in front of the auditorium and gazed down the
thoroughfare. The engine could plainly be seen, smoke and sparks
pouring from it, for the automatic apparatus, that starts a blaze under
the boiler, had been set going by the engineer as the steamer pulled
out of its quarters.

The engine was a new one for Cresville, being one of two purchased to
replace the old hand-drawn pumping affairs that had so long done duty
in the town.

“Come on!” suddenly exclaimed Jerry Hopkins, and he led his two chums
over toward his auto, the trio having come to the meeting in the
powerful machine.

“What are you going to do?” asked Ned.

“Catch those horses!” replied Jerry as he hurried on.

And in the momentary pause that ensued, while he and his friends were
getting in the car, to give pursuit to the runaway fire engine steeds,
I will take a brief moment to acquaint my new readers with the chief
characters of this story.

Those of you who formed your friendship for the chums in the book
called “The Motor Boys,” know Ned, Bob and Jerry full well by this time.

Jerry Hopkins was the son of a rich widow of Cresville, and was the
leader of the trio, the three boys having been chums, friends and
inseparable companions for many years. Bob Baker, otherwise known as
“Chunky,” was the son of Andrew Baker, a banker of the town, while Ned
Slade’s father kept the chief department store in Cresville. As already
stated, this town, or city, as its more enthusiastic admirers called
it, was in New England, not far from Boston.

As may be guessed from the title of the first book, the lads were much
interested in machines propelled by gasoline motors. Their initial
venture was with motor cycles, after their bicycle days, and then they
secured an automobile, in which they went on many a tour, even down
into Mexico, as related in other volumes of the “Motor Boys Series.”

They later acquired a motor boat and voyaged on the Atlantic and
Pacific, and several books are devoted to their activities in this
regard. As might be expected, the perfection of the aeroplane gave the
boys a chance for new activities, and they ventured above the clouds
more than once.

From the heights to the depths was a natural descent, and a submarine
took the motor boys under the ocean where they had more than one
thrill. Then they went back to their motor car and boat again; and had
more exciting times on road and river.

In “The Motor Boys at Boxwood Hall; or, Ned, Bob and Jerry as
Freshmen,” the seventeenth book of this series, you will find our
heroes in a new phase. Too long, their parents decided, had they been
living a free and careless life, with no systematic studying to fit
them for the struggle that lay before them. So they were sent to school
again, and Boxwood Hall was the place selected for them.

Because a certain clique there had the idea that these lads regarded
themselves too seriously, there was a conspiracy formed against Ned,
Bob and Jerry at the school, and they entered under a handicap. How
they worked it off, and came in “first under the wire,” will be found
fully set down. Also may be read how the faithful trio, at the last
moment, turned what might have been an athletic defeat into victory,
and, incidentally, helped a fellow student to develop his character
along the right lines.

Mr. Slade and Mr. Baker were financially interested in a certain
western cattle ranch, and when it was learned that serious thefts had
taken place there the motor boys were eager to go out and try to solve
the mystery. How they did is told in “The Motor Boys on a Ranch.”

From then on matters at Boxwood Hall went more smoothly, and Ned, Bob
and Jerry were accorded the place to which they were entitled.

They had now come home for the Easter vacation, to find their town
plunged in war excitement, in which the whole country shared.

“Do you mean you’re going to chase after that engine in this car?”
asked Bob, as he managed to fling himself into the rear seat, while
Jerry and Ned took the front one and the former started the motor.

“That’s just what I’m going to do,” Jerry answered. “If Jim Foster, the
driver, has been thrown off, there’s no one aboard to stop the fire
horses.”

“Well, Jim was thrown off all right!” exclaimed Ned. “They’ve picked
him up, and are carrying him into Doctor Newton’s place.”

“Hank Tedder, the engineer, is hanging on all right,” added Bob, as he
peered down the street and observed a man clinging to the rear of the
swaying engine.

“Yes, but he can’t climb over and get into Foster’s seat and stop the
horses,” decided Jerry, as he turned on more speed and swung his big
touring car after the engine ahead of him. “This is the only way to
stop those frightened horses.”

“Unless some one gets in front of ’em and brings ’em up,” added Ned.

“Who’d take a risk like that?” asked Bob, from the rear seat. “In fact,
I don’t see how you are going to work it, Jerry.”

“I don’t quite know myself; but I’m going to try. You know the way a
mounted policeman stops a runaway team is to ride up alongside of
them, get his horse to going at the same speed as the bolters, and then
gradually bring them to a stop.”

“And you’re going to try that?” asked Bob, incredulously.

“Sure! Why not? It’s the only thing to do,” answered Jerry, calmly. “If
those horses keep on down the Hoyt street hill they’ll go smack into
the river! It’s a pity they didn’t get auto engines while they were at
it.”

“That’s right!” agreed Ned. “Keep on, Jerry, old man!”

“I will! Hold tight, though, fellows, when it comes to the last lap.
There may be an upset!”

Indeed the boys were taking a desperate chance. The frightened horses,
hitched to the heavy engine, were pulling it along at top speed, and
the downward slope of the street added to their momentum. As yet
the grade was gradual, but, a little farther on, the slant was more
decided, leading down to the river.

Hoyt street turned at the end, and went along the river bank, but at
the speed they were going it would be impossible for the horses to make
the turn, the boys thought.

By this time a number of persons, some of whom had left the meeting,
were in the street, following after the runaway engine, and shouting
wildly. One or two persons in automobiles started after the speeding
horses, but Jerry’s car was well in the lead, though the horses had a
good start.

The engineer of the steamer, realizing the danger should any
pedestrians or persons in vehicles get in the path of the wild horses,
pulling the tons of steel and fire behind them, kept the whistle going
spasmodically.

The new engine house, as are all those in cities, was fitted with a
device to keep steam at ten pounds pressure constantly in the boiler.
When the engine pulled out this pressure was enough to operate the
whistle, and when the fire was started there was soon steam enough to
work the pump, in case it should prove to be needed.

“Do you see anything of the fire?” asked Bob, as Jerry’s car speeded on.

Ned looked up. The number of the alarm box indicated that it was in
the neighborhood of his father’s large department store. And he was
relieved when he saw no tell-tale glare in the sky. But the danger of
the runaway engine was still present. Could Jerry reach and stop the
team in time?




CHAPTER III

“JUST AS EASY!”


Down the hill thundered the fire engine, the man on the back step
keeping the whistle going. Behind the steamer came the powerful
automobile containing Ned, Bob and Jerry, and after them came a crowd
of men and boys, while a car or two, not having the speed advantage of
the motor boys’ vehicle, trailed after.

“If they make the turn into Water street, a block above the river,
they’ll be safe,” said Ned to his tall chum beside him in the seat.
“The hill isn’t so steep there. But if they keep on down past Water
street----”

“It’s into the water for them!” grimly finished Jerry Hopkins. “We’ll
try to stop them before they get there.”

He gave the auto a little more gasoline, and it leaped forward. At the
same moment Bob yelled:

“There it is! See the blaze!”

He pointed off to the left, and there a glare in the sky, which
increased in brightness as the boys looked, could be observed.

“One of the tenements over in Frogtown!” exclaimed Ned, naming a poor
section of Cresville where lived a number of foreigners who worked in
the various factories. Of late a number of new industries had sprung
up in the place, and the foreigners, who made up a large share of
the workmen, were quartered in long rows of tenement houses, on the
outskirts of Cresville, the place being styled “Frogtown,” because
built on filled land, where once had been a frog-infested pond.

“If those shacks get to going there’ll be some fire,” murmured Ned.
“And they’ll get a good start if the engine doesn’t soon reach the
place.”

“Some one ought to send in another alarm, and bring out the other
engine,” added Bob. “This one won’t be much good if it goes to smash.”

“We’ve no time to send in alarms now,” muttered Jerry. “Let some one
else do that. We’ve got to stop those horses if we can!”

Ned and Bob clung to the sides of the car. This was in the lead now,
and nothing was between their automobile and the swaying, rumbling
engine.

Suddenly Ned gave a cry and pointed to something.

“What is it?” asked Jerry. “Another fire?”

“Look at that old man! Right in the path of the engine! The horses’ll
be on him in a minute!”

“That’s right!” chimed in Bob, from the rear seat. “Hi there! Get out
the way!” he yelled. “Don’t you see the engine?”

Certainly the man at the side of the road, standing in the full glare
of an arc electric light, ought to have heard the rattle of the
runaway engine, even if he did not see it, though the place was well
illuminated, and there was then no other vehicle in sight, save the
automobile of the motor boys. There was something familiar about the
odd figure, but neither Ned, Bob nor Jerry had time just then to look
closely enough to make out who it was.

“What’s he doing?” asked Jerry, as he skillfully guided his machine
and turned on a little more speed, for he was nearing the engine, and
wanted to be in a position to stop the runaway horses if he could.

“He seems to be picking up something off the ground, under the light,”
went on Ned. “Get out the way! Get out the way!” he yelled.

Then, for the first time, the little man at the side of the street
seemed aware of what was going on.

“Look at him!” cried Jerry.

“He’s right in the way of the horses!” added Ned.

“And he’s going to try to stop ’em!” came from Bob. “Oh, boy! what’ll
happen to him?”

And it was plain to the three chums that the little man was going to
make an effort to stop the runaways. At this point there was a slight
upward slant to the street, before it made the turn over the hill down
to the river.

The horses had slackened their speed somewhat, but they were still
running at a smart pace, when the little man, first laying something
carefully down in the grass at a safe distance from the road, stepped
out, and began running alongside the runaways.

“He knows something about the game,” murmured Ned. “Lots of folks that
try to stop a runaway horse get right in front. The only way to do is
to get alongside and grab the reins.”

“That’s what he’s doing! That’s what he’s _done_!” cried Bob.

And, indeed, the small man had. He ran alongside the off horse, until
he could reach up and grab the reins, and then he hung on and let his
weight tell. And it did, too, slight as it was. That, and the effect of
his voice (for the boys could hear him calling to the steeds to stop),
combined with the fact that the horses were tired and had a little hill
before them, gradually brought the runaways to a stop. The nigh horse
slipped and fell heavily, but the other retained its feet, and so did
the little man who had brought the animals to a stop.

“Say, did you see him do it?” cried Jerry to his chums.

“I should say yes!” chimed in Bob.

“Just as easy!” murmured Ned, admiringly. “Just as easy!”

“He certainly did know how to do it,” agreed Jerry, as he brought the
automobile to a stop near the throbbing engine, for now there was a
good head of steam up. The boys ran to where the little man still
stood. Ned was the first to reach him. The boy gave a cry.

“Professor Snodgrass!”

“What’s that?” asked Jerry, in surprise.

“It’s our old friend, Professor Uriah Snodgrass!”

“Great rattlesnakes, so it is!” shouted Bob.

And it was, indeed, the professor, now a member of the faculty of
Boxwood Hall, and a companion, more than once, of the boys on their
trips.

“Are you hurt, Professor?” asked Jerry, as he hurried to the side of
the little scientist, while the fireman of the steamer came forward to
relieve Mr. Snodgrass of the care of the standing horse.

“Hurt? No. Why?” asked the surprised scientist.

“Why because you stopped that runaway.”

“Runaway? Was that a _runaway_?” asked Professor Snodgrass in great
surprise.

“Of course it was!” cried Ned. “Didn’t you know it?”

“A runaway? No, my dear boy, I did not. I heard some yelling, and I saw
the fire engine coming my way. But the reason I stopped it was because
a little while ago I saw, just beyond, in the road, a most curious bug
of a kind that only appears early in April in this locality. I was
eager to get it, and I was afraid, if the horses and engine trampled
the roadway, that I would lose the exceedingly rare specimen. That’s
why I stopped the animals. I had no idea that it was a runaway, but I’m
glad if I have been of any service. If you’ll excuse me, now, I’ll go
and look for that bug,” and, as though it was his custom every evening
after supper to stop a runaway fire engine in danger of plunging into
the river, Professor Snodgrass turned aside and began searching in the
dust for the bug he wanted. Off to one side, in the grass where he had
carefully placed it before stepping out to stop the horses, was the
collecting box the boys knew so well.

“Isn’t he the limit?” cried Jerry.

“Same old professor. Hasn’t changed a bit,” observed Bob.

“Well, considering it was only about three weeks ago that we left him
at Boxwood Hall, there hasn’t been much time for change,” returned Ned,
with a laugh. “But say, fellows, what’s to be done?” he went on. “That
fire’s growing worse, and it looks as though one of these horses was
out of business.”

“He is,” said Hank Tedder, the engineer. “His leg’s broke. He’ll never
pull another engine. And how I’m going to get this steamer to the
fire--first alarm it’s ever responded to--I don’t know.”

The boys did not either--that is Ned and Bob did not. But Jerry did. He
was always resourceful.

“Unhitch the horses!” he cried to Hank. “Push the engine back so it
clears, and we’ll tow it to the fire with our auto.”

“Can you?” asked Ned.

“Sure. We’ve got plenty of power, and it’s a level road from here on.
Downhill, if anything. You can ride on the seat, Hank, and put on the
brake when it’s needed. Come on, boys!”

“All right. And it can’t be any too soon!” murmured Bob, as he looked
at the reddening sky.

“They may send the other engine,” said Jake Todger, another fireman
who came up in some one’s automobile just then. He worked to free the
injured horse while the boys unharnessed the other one. Professor
Snodgrass seemed to have forgotten about everything but the bug he was
looking for in the dust of the road, under the electric light.

With straps from the harness, and a strong towline carried on the auto,
the machine was soon hitched to the steamer, and then Jerry once more
took his position at the steering wheel.

“Going to leave the professor here?” asked Bob, as Hank climbed to the
driver’s seat of the steamer, while Jake got on behind.

“Guess we’ll have to,” replied Ned. “I didn’t know he was in town. He
must have just arrived, and probably he has come to pay one of us a
visit. He’ll look us up later--when he’s found that bug. Best to leave
him alone.”

“That’s right,” agreed Jake. “Anything to get to the fire. This has
been an awful night!”

“And it’s only just begun,” observed Jerry, as he thought of the
patriotic meeting he and the others had left to go to see where the
fire was.

Off started the powerful automobile pulling the engine, while the red
blaze in the sky grew brighter.




CHAPTER IV

CROOKED NOSE


“Some fire, boys!”

“Yes, we aren’t going to get there any too soon.”

“I doubt if we can save any of the old shacks if they get going.”

Thus spoke Ned, Bob and Jerry as they sat in the automobile, pulling
the fire engine along the road. It was not as easy as Jerry had thought
it would be, and he had to use the utmost power of his car, strong as
it was; for the steamer was heavy, and the roads were of dirt. But it
was the only solution of the difficulty, with one horse disabled, and
no others immediately available.

“Can you make it, boys?” asked Hank, from his seat in front of the
throbbing engine.

“We will make it, or bust a cylinder!” exclaimed Jerry, as he turned
off the road into a cross street that led to Frogtown, the scene of the
fire.

On chugged the automobile, and behind it rumbled the fire engine. The
machine was not of the heaviest construction, or perhaps Jerry’s
car, powerful as the latter was, could not have pulled it. But, as it
happened, it was possible to move it along at good speed, and they were
soon at the head of the street on which stood the burning structure.

“It’s one of the big tenements!” cried Ned.

“Yes, and it’s gone beyond saving, I guess,” added Jerry. “The engine
didn’t get here in time.”

This was evident to all. The tenement, a long, rambling structure of
wood, three stories high, was blazing at one end. Already about half of
it had been consumed and had fallen in red ruins. The wind was blowing
the flames toward the unburned portion, and it was only a question of
time when it would all go.

“Here comes the other engine!” some one shouted, as Jerry drew the one
he was pulling up to a fire plug.

“They’d better try to save the rest of the block, and let this shebang
go!” exclaimed Jake Todger, as he jumped down and began to attach the
big hose from the hydrant to the pump.

Two hose carts were on hand, one belonging to the engine the boys had
pulled to the fire, and the members of the department began to attach
the line to the engine.

“We’ll have a stream on in a jiffy!” exclaimed Jake. “But the second
engine’d better play on the other end of the block to keep that from
catchin’.”

This seemed to be the idea of the chief of the fire department, for he
came rushing up, and gave orders that the tenement adjoining the one
that was ablaze, should be kept wet down.

“You play on the fire itself, Jake!” the chief ordered. “What happened
to your engine, and where’s the driver?”

“Pitched off and hurt, I guess. Bad, too. The horses ran away an’ one’s
got a busted leg. Jerry Hopkins and his chums pulled the engine here
with their auto.”

“Good for them! Well, get busy.”

Jerry ran his car out of the way, and then the engine he had brought to
the blaze began pumping. Soon two powerful streams were available, one
playing on the blaze itself, and the other forming a curtain of water
to prevent the fire from spreading.

“Anybody hurt?” asked Jerry of the chief.

“No, I guess not. We got most of the folks out before your engine got
here. I’m much obliged to you. I don’t know what we’d have done if we
hadn’t had both engines.”

The fire was a fierce one, and many of the families had hurried out
with only a small portion of their possessions. But it was something
to have escaped with their lives, for the fire was caused by the
explosion of an oil stove a woman was using, and the flames spread
rapidly. The woman was badly burned, as was one of her children, and
they had been taken to the hospital.

“Think they can save any of it?” asked Bob of Jerry, as they stood
watching, having put their automobile in a safe place.

“Not any of the tenement that’s burning, I don’t. They’ll be lucky if
the rest of the block doesn’t go.”

“That’s what I think,” added Ned. “Say, hadn’t we better go back to the
professor?” he asked. “Maybe he’ll think it funny of us to have gone
off and left him.”

“You ought to know him better than that by this time!” exclaimed Jerry,
with a laugh. “He won’t think about anything but that bug he’s trying
to catch. The idea of stopping a runaway team of fire engine horses,
and not knowing it! Just stopped ’em because he thought they’d trample
on some insect! And then you think he’ll feel hurt if we don’t come
back after him!

“Just let him alone. Sooner or later he’ll show up at one of our homes,
and then we can find out what he’s doing in this neighborhood now.”

“Maybe he’s planning some expedition to South America, or some place
like that, and he wants us to go with him,” said Bob. “We have had
some corking times with him.”

“Nothing like that doing now,” observed Ned. “We’ve got to stick on at
Boxwood Hall, I expect. Of course it’s a dandy place, and all that, but
I would like a trip off into the wilds. And if we could take Professor
Snodgrass along it would be dandy.”

But events were to shape themselves differently for the motor boys.
Those of you who have read the previous books of the series need no
introduction to Professor Snodgrass. He was a scientist of learning and
attainments, and in the boys he had firm friends. They had taken him
with them on nearly all of their trips, by automobile, in the airships,
in the submarines, and when they journeyed in their motor boats.

The professor had been connected with colleges and museums, for his
services as a collector and curator of insects and reptiles were much
in demand. He was an enthusiast of the first water, and would do even
more desperate and risky things to secure a rare bug than stopping a
runaway fire engine.

Of late he had headed a department at Boxwood Hall, and the boys were
glad of this, for he proved as good a friend to them there as he had
afield on their various trips.

They had left him at Boxwood, about three weeks before, quietly and
peacefully cataloging some of his insects, and now they beheld him in
the midst of considerable excitement. The professor seldom sent word
that he was coming. He just came.

“Look!” suddenly cried Jerry, as he and his chums stood watching the
blaze. “What’s the idea over there?” and he pointed to where some
firemen were raising a ladder at the still unburned end of the blazing
tenement.

“Looks like a rescue,” observed Ned.

“That’s what it is,” said Bob. “They’re taking down an old woman!”

“And some children!” added Jerry.

This was what was going on. Two families, in the top story of the end
of the structure not yet directly on fire, had either been overlooked
in the other rescues, or they had hidden away in fear, and were not
seen.

Now some one had either told of them, or the unfortunates had been
seen at the windows, and a call was given for a ladder. One was raised
against the wall, and two firemen went up. They succeeded in bringing
down the woman and the children, who had been trapped when the stairs
burned away.

A cheer greeted the plucky efforts of the firemen, for the rescue was
not an easy one. Ned, Bob and Jerry joined in the tribute. All around
was the crackle of flames, and thick clouds of smoke rolled here and
there, smarting eyes and choking throats. The throbbing and puffing
of the steamers mingled with the shouts and orders that flew back and
forth.

Suddenly a cry arose at the far end of the burning tenement; the end
that could not longer be held back from the flames.

The three chums ran to where the cry sounded, and observed, leaning out
of a second story window on the end of the house, an old man. Smoke
poured from the window back of him, and behind him could be seen the
ruddy flames, ever coming nearer.

“Another one they’ve forgotten,” cried Ned.

“Or else he hid away, or has been unconscious,” added Bob.

“They’ve got to get him soon!” exclaimed Jerry.

But the firemen, and there were none too many of them even with the
whole department out, were busy elsewhere. Some were attending the
nozzles, others were helping at the engines and some were still
carrying to places of safety the women and children brought down from
the front of the blazing structure.

“We’ve got to get him down!” cried Jerry.

“If we only had a ladder!” added Ned.

“Here’s one!” shouted Bob, and he pointed to a short one that had been
thrown on the ground, evidently as of no use in reaching the women and
children who were taken from the floor higher up.

“Will it reach?” asked Ned.

“We’ve got to try,” Jerry yelled. “Bring it over!”

With the aid of his chums, he raised it against the window. Just then
part of the house fell in, and the crowd surged back, thinking to get
out of danger, so the boys were left comparatively to themselves in
making this rescue.

“Hold the ladder at the foot, Bob,” directed Jerry; “it isn’t any too
firm. Ned and I’ll go up and see if we can get him down.”

The old man, half choked from smoke, was leaning from the window now,
shouting as well as he could with his feeble breath.

“Don’t jump!” yelled Ned. “We’re coming after you!”

Quickly he started up the ladder, followed by Jerry. The old man held
out his arms to them imploringly.

Bob braced himself against the foot of the ladder to prevent it from
slipping, and for once in his life he was glad that he was fat and
heavy. He made a good anchor.

“Keep still! We’re coming! We’re coming!” yelled Jerry.

The aged man was excited and fearful, and small wonder. The smoke,
pouring from the window around him, was thicker now, and the flames
back of him were brighter.

Up and up went Ned and Jerry. When they came closer they could hear the
old man shouting:

“My money! My money! I must get my money and the jewelry!”

They were at the window now, the ladder just reaching to it, with not a
foot to spare.

“Never mind about your money and jewelry!” shouted Jerry. “You’ll be
lucky to get off with your life. Come on, we’ll help you down!”

“No, I must get my money! I can not afford to lose it! I must go back
and get it, and get the jewelry! They took some but I saved the rest.”

He turned as though to hobble back into the smoke filled and fire
encircled room.

“You’ll be burned to death if you go!” shouted Jerry.

“Oh, but I must get my money!” whined the aged man. “Crooked Nose came
for it, but I hid some of it away from him. I must get it. I don’t
want Crooked Nose to get it! Oh, wait until I get my money!” and he
disappeared from the casement.




CHAPTER V

THE ODD MAN


“We’ve got to get him!” cried Jerry to Ned.

“Sure thing! He’ll be burned to death in there in less than a minute!
What’s he mean about Crooked Nose?”

“Hanged if I know! But don’t stop to ask questions. Go on up. I’ll be
right after you. We’ve got to get him. Stand firm, Bob!” Jerry yelled
to his chum at the foot of the ladder.

“Right!” answered the stout one, making his voice heard above the
various noises of the fire.

Up the ladder went Ned and Jerry, pausing a moment as they got to the
point where they could look into the room. The smoke had blown away for
the time being.

“There he is!” cried Ned, pointing to a figure huddled on the floor.

The two boys leaped into the room, taking big gulps of fresh air to
hold in their lungs as long as possible, for they saw that the wind was
blowing the smoke into the room again.

They caught hold of the old man. He appeared to be a Frenchman, though
he spoke good English. The boys lifted him up, and this seemed to
restore his scattered senses.

“Wait! Wait!” he murmured. “My money! I must get my money. And that
jewelry! Crooked Nose got some of it, but I hid the most. He shan’t
have it! I must save it. In the iron box! Get it for me! Don’t let
Crooked Nose have it!”

“He’s raving!” said Ned.

“Don’t talk! Save your breath!” mumbled Jerry, doing just what he
warned his chum against. “Catch hold and----”

He did not finish, but nodded in the direction of the open window. The
room was lighted by the reflection of flames outside. Ned understood,
and, taking hold of the old man’s legs one of which seemed to be
crippled, while Jerry supported his head, they carried him to the
casement.

Jerry got out first, while Ned held the old man, who kept muttering
something about “Crooked Nose,” and “money and jewelry.” The boys paid
little attention then, though the time was to come when the incident
would be brought back to them in a startling manner.

Once again on the ladder, Jerry called:

“Now work him out till he hangs over my shoulder like a sack of flour,
Ned. I can carry him down that way. He isn’t heavy. Hold him steady
until I give the word.”

“All right,” answered his chum, and then the two proceeded to save the
old man. Ned shifted the burden until it rested on the window sill. The
Frenchman was either unconscious now, or incapable of motion, for he
was as limp and inert as Jerry could wish, and he was easier to handle
in that way. Getting him over his shoulder, as he might a sack of
flour, Jerry started down the ladder with his burden.

Ned gave one last look around the room where the old man seemed to have
lived all alone. There was a bed in one corner, and a stove in the
other, with a few poor possessions.

“I don’t see anything of Crooked Nose or a box of money, or jewelry
either,” murmured Ned. “I guess he was out of his head through fear. I
might take another look, but----”

Just then there was a sound indicating that a large portion of the
structure had fallen in. This was followed by such a burst of flame and
smoke into the room that Ned was almost trapped. He made a dive for the
window and got out on the ladder. Down it he hurried, after Jerry and
his burden, and he was not a moment too soon, for an instant later the
flames burst from the window in a volume sufficient to have overwhelmed
any one who had been in the apartment.

“Just in time,” murmured Ned, as he came to the ground, a few seconds
after Jerry reached it.

Willing hands took the burden of the old man, and he was carried to a
place where volunteer nurses and a physician worked over him.

By this time the tenement house was a mass of flames. The fire involved
the end where the old Frenchman had lived, and there was no hope of
saving it. The place was like a tinder-box, and soon after Jerry and
Ned had left it the roof at that end fell in.

Quickly the fire burned itself out, and then came the problem of caring
for the unfortunates who had lost nearly everything, and who were
homeless. Kind friends and neighbors took in such as they could.

“How’s our Frenchman?” asked Ned of Jerry, as they were about to go
to their automobile and depart for home, since the high point of the
excitement had passed.

“I don’t know. We might take a look.”

A policeman directed them to a near-by store, where several firemen
and spectators had been treated for cuts from glass or partial smoke
suffocation, and there the boys found the old Frenchman. He was a
cripple, with a stiff left leg, and had suffered much from shock. He
was in great distress of mind.

“These are the boys who brought you down the ladder, who saved you,”
said a doctor, pointing to Ned and Jerry.

The man murmured something in his own expressive language, and then, as
if realizing that the boys could not understand very well, though they
knew some French, he said, in English:

“I can never thank you enough! You saved my life! But tell me, did you
see Crooked Nose or my iron box of money and jewelry?”

“No,” answered Jerry gently. He thought the old man was still wandering
in his faculties.

“Who is Crooked Nose?” asked Ned.

“He is a villain!” exclaimed the Frenchman, whose name, some one said,
was Jules Cardon. “He is a villain who tried to rob me of all I had. He
got some of my money and some of the jewelry, but the rest I put in the
iron box and locked. Then I hid it. But the fire came and I could not
find it. Then I remember no more. But if you find Crooked Nose you will
catch a great scoundrel, and perhaps find my money and the precious
jewelry.”

“Is Crooked Nose a man?” asked Jerry.

“Yes. He came to see me this evening. He knew me in France--many years
ago. He demanded money. I would not give it to him, and he said he
would take it, or he would---- Well, he made threats. I hid most of the
money and the jewelry, but I forgot where I put it when the fire came.
Oh, was it burned?”

“Well, if it was left in there I should say it was,” replied Jerry, as
he looked at the glowing ruins. “Nothing much left there.”

“But maybe Crooked Nose took it,” suggested Mr. Cardon. “He is a
villain.”

“What’s his name?” asked Bob.

The crippled old Frenchman shook his head.

“It would be of no use to tell you,” he said. “He changes his name too
often. Crooked Nose, I call him. He can’t change that!”

The old man seemed much improved, bodily, but his mental anguish was
pitiable. Again and again he implored to be allowed to go back and look
for his money, but of course this could not be. What was left of the
ruins was a mass of blazing wood.

Then, when he seemed to think that all was lost, the old man became
calmer, and told a more connected story.

The old Frenchman was an engraver by trade and had worked for many
years in New York, doing fine engraving for some leading jewelers. Then
he had become crippled by an accident and had moved to Cresville for
his health. In Cresville he had managed to pick up considerable work
from the local jewelers, doing the engraving on rings, watches, and
silver and gold ware for them.

“I have much jewelry to engrave!” he said, with a sorrowful shake
of his head. “I have a fine gold watch, and a silver tea set, and a
magnificent diamond brooch, and other things. Now--where are they?” and
he shrugged his shoulders despairingly.

“Gee, that will be a big loss for somebody!” remarked Ned.

Just before the fire broke out the old Frenchman had had a visitor.
This, as he explained, was a “queer stick of a man with a very crooked
nose.”

“He got it in a fight in France many years ago,” said Mr. Cardon. “I
had not seen him in a long time. How he found me and my money and the
jewelry I do not know. But he threatened, and would have hurt me, had I
not given him some. But I hid the most of it, and then the fire came.
It came after Crooked Nose went out. Maybe he set the blaze. He was
wicked enough. Oh, my money is lost--and that jewelry I was trusted
with!”

“It is if it was in there. But maybe that fellow you call Crooked Nose
got it,” suggested Jerry. “You can have a look in the ruins after they
cool.”

There was nothing more the motor boys could do, and, learning that some
of the neighbors would care for the old Frenchman, they got ready to
go home.

“Hadn’t we better go back and see what has become of Professor
Snodgrass?” asked Bob, as they reached their automobile.

“Well, it might be a good plan,” agreed Jerry.

“Some of the bugs he is after may have carried him off,” suggested Ned,
with a laugh.

They started for the place where the runaway fire horses had been
caught by Mr. Snodgrass.

“This has been what you might call a ‘large’ evening,” remarked Jerry,
as he guided the car.

“Somewhat juicy,” added Ned.

“Speaking of juicy reminds me of a broiled steak,” put in Bob. “What do
you say to a little supper? I’m hungry.”

“For once I agree with your gastronomic suggestion,” replied Jerry.
“What say, Ned?”

“I’m with you. Let’s include the professor if we can find him.”

They reached the scene where they had last observed their friend, but
he was not in sight. The horse lay there, having been shot to end its
suffering, and then the boys went on into town.

There they telephoned to their people that they were all right and
would be home later, at the same time mentioning the fact that
Professor Snodgrass was in town, and would probably call if he did not
get on some bug-hunting chase that kept him out all night.

As the boys entered a restaurant they almost collided with, or, rather,
were fairly run into by, a man who seemed in great haste. He acted in
a peculiar manner, turning his face aside as if to escape observation,
and hurried on out.

“Well, you’re a gentleman!” angrily murmured Jerry, who had received
the full impact of the odd character.

“Didn’t even say: ‘Excuse me!’ did he?” asked Ned.

“Nothing like it. He must be going to catch a train!”

Bob, who was just behind his chums, turned quickly and looked after the
man.

“Did you see him?” he asked.

“Did I _see_ him. I _felt_ him!” declared Jerry, with a rueful laugh.

“And did you notice?” went on Bob, in some excitement.

“Notice what?” Ned inquired.

“His crooked nose! It was all on one side of his face. Say, fellows,
maybe that’s the man who tried to rob the old Frenchman!” exclaimed Bob
in a tense whisper.




CHAPTER VI

FIRST CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS


Jerry and Ned looked at Bob quickly, and then darted glances after the
man who had so rudely pushed out of the door, almost upsetting Jerry on
his way.

“Did he really have a crooked nose?” asked Ned.

“He sure did! I had a good view of his side face, and his nose looked
as though he had been a football player most of his life, and had
fallen on his nose instead of on the pigskin.”

Ned darted out to the sidewalk, and looked up and down the street. He
came back to report.

“The man, Crooked Nose or not, isn’t in sight,” he said. “But if you
think it’s worth while postponing the meal----”

“No, don’t!” hastily begged Bob. “Maybe after we caught up to him it
wouldn’t be the right man.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you there,” said Jerry. “We have only this
Frenchman’s word for it, and there is probably more than one man with
a crooked nose in Cresville. We can’t go up to the first chap we meet
who’s decorated that way and accuse him of taking money and jewelry or
setting fire to a house. It won’t do.”

“No,” assented Ned. “We might properly call him down for his manner of
colliding with us, but that isn’t criminal. I guess we’ll just have
to let him go, and second Bob’s motion to hold a grub-fest. I have an
appetite, even with all the smoke I swallowed.”

“Same here,” said Jerry. “That Frenchman may have been dreaming. But he
tells a funny story, and Crooked Nose, as we’ll call him until we think
of a better name, did seem to want to get off without being recognized.”

“He actually seemed afraid of us,” went on Ned. “He came out of here
like a shot as soon as he saw us. I’m sure there’s something wrong
about him, and there may be more in the Frenchman’s story than has yet
come out.”

“We can go and see him to-morrow,” suggested Jerry. “But we’d better
look after Professor Snodgrass a little now. He may be at one of our
houses expecting us; that is, if he hasn’t found a new colony of bugs.”

So the boys proceeded with their meal, talking meanwhile about the
events of the night.

“I wonder how the patriotic meeting made out?” asked Ned.

“We can pass there on our way home,” said Jerry. “I guess there will be
plenty of such from now on, since Uncle Sam has decided to take a fall
out of the Kaiser.”

But as the boys, in their automobile, rode past the auditorium, it
was closed and dark, showing that the meeting was over. That it was a
success they heard from several persons to whom they spoke as they rode
through the streets of the small city on their way to Jerry’s house,
since it was decided to stop there first, to see if Professor Snodgrass
was visiting Mrs. Hopkins.

And it was there they found him, talking to Jerry’s mother, who was
entertaining the little scientist, meanwhile wondering what was keeping
the boys.

“Well, how does it feel to be a hero?” asked Ned, as he greeted the
professor.

“A hero?” murmured Mr. Snodgrass, wonderingly.

“Yes. Didn’t he tell you, Mother?” inquired Jerry. “He stopped the team
that was running away with the fire engine and----”

“And you never mentioned it, Professor!” exclaimed Mrs. Hopkins.

“Too modest!” murmured Jerry.

“Really, I never gave it a thought,” said the visitor. “In fact, I
didn’t notice anything about the vehicle in question. I only saw some
horses coming down the road, and I didn’t want them to step on a
colony of bugs I wished to investigate. That is all there was to it.
But did the fire amount to anything, boys?”

“Yes, it was some fire,” answered Bob. “And, what’s more, Jerry and Ned
did a bit of hero work themselves,” and he related the incident of the
rescue of the Frenchman.

“Oh, it wasn’t anything!” declared Jerry, as he saw his mother looking
proudly at him. “Bob was in it, too. If he hadn’t been so fat he
couldn’t have kept the ladder from slipping.”

“That’s right!” chimed in Ned. “I guess we can all congratulate
ourselves.”

“How was the meeting?” asked Mrs. Hopkins.

“We didn’t hear much of it,” answered Jerry. “Came out when it was less
than half over, to see about the fire, and we’ve been busy ever since.
But say, Professor, what do you think about this declaration of war
with Germany?”

“I think it was the only thing the people of the United States could
do with honor and with a regard for their own rights and the cause of
humanity,” was the quick answer. “We’ll all have to get into the fight
sooner or later, and in one way or another. I think there are stirring
times ahead of us, boys.”

The talk became general, and Professor Snodgrass told of having heard
from a fellow scientist that a certain kind of insect was to be found
in the vicinity of Cresville, and so he had decided to come on a little
expedition in the few days that remained of the Easter vacation.

“We’re glad to see you,” declared Jerry. “Are you counting on going
anywhere else after bugs?”

“Not just at present,” answered the scientist. “I have found just what
I want right here, so it won’t be necessary to get out the airship or
the submarine this time.”

“I wish we could,” sighed Ned. “It seems a shame that all our good
times have to be curtailed for a while, and that we have to go back to
Boxwood Hall.”

“That’s the place for you boys, for some years yet,” said Mrs. Hopkins.
“You have had your share of fun, and you must now be content to do a
little serious work.”

“That is right,” chimed in Professor Snodgrass. “But I have not given
up all hope of making other trips with you boys. I haven’t forgotten
the stirring times we have had. There may be more ahead of us, though
when the country actually gets into war every one will have to give up
some pleasures.”

The boys related the incidents of the fire, incidentally speaking of
the Frenchman’s real or fancied loss of his money and the jewelry and
about the man with the crooked nose.

“Oh, I think I know that crippled Frenchman!” cried Mrs. Hopkins
suddenly. “He does work for Mr. Martley, the jeweler. Oh, I wonder if
it can be true,” and she gave a gasp.

“What is it, Mother?” demanded Jerry, who saw that something was wrong.

“I sent that new diamond brooch I bought last month at Martley’s back
to be engraved. Perhaps Mr. Martley let that Frenchman have it.”

“He mentioned a diamond brooch.”

“If it is mine and it is gone!” Mrs. Hopkins clasped her hands. “It
cost eight hundred dollars!”

“In that case Martley will have to pay for it,” added Jerry quickly.

“Yes, Jerry. But it will make a lot of trouble,” sighed his mother.

“Was that man’s nose bent to the left?” asked Professor Snodgrass,
looking up from a dried bug he was inspecting, for he carried specimens
in almost every pocket, and looked at them whenever he had a chance.

“Yes, and it was quite a bend, too,” said Bob. “Why do you ask, Mr.
Snodgrass?”

“Because I think I saw the same man shortly after you boys left me to
go to the fire, dragging the engine with your auto. I was in the middle
of the road, getting some of the insects into my specimen box, when I
was almost trodden on by a man who was hurrying past. I looked up to
remonstrate with him, and then I saw that he had a very crooked nose.
Before I had a chance to say all I wanted to about his manners, or,
rather, lack of them, he hurried on.”

“It must have been the same chap,” declared Jerry. “His rudeness shows
that. He did the same thing to us. We must keep our eyes open, and, if
we see him around town, we’ll find out who he is.”

Professor Snodgrass not only spent the night at Mrs. Hopkins’ house,
but his visit extended over several days.

During that time some highly interesting facts came to light.

It was learned that at the time of the fire the old crippled French
jeweler had had a great number of things in his possession to engrave,
entrusted to him by two of the local jewelers, Mr. Martley and Mr.
Jackson.

Among the things given to him by Mr. Martley were the diamond brooch
belonging to Mrs. Hopkins and also a gold watch which was the property
of Mr. Baker, Bob’s father. Both of these valuable articles were now
missing--and even when the ruins of the fire were searched they were
not brought to light.

Of course both Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Baker were much disturbed, and so
was Mr. Martley. The jeweler was in a bad way financially, and this
made matters worse than ever for him. His creditors came down on him
immediately and the next day he had to make an assignment. The other
jeweler was better fixed and settled up promptly for his losses.

“It looks as if my father would be out his watch,” said Bob to his
chums. “And such a fine timepiece too! It cost a hundred and sixty
dollars!”

“That isn’t as bad as my mother’s loss,” returned Jerry. “That diamond
brooch cost eight hundred dollars!”

“Martley was a fool to trust the old Frenchman with the things.”

“He knows that--now. Not but what I guess the old man was honest
enough. But it was a careless thing to do.”

“Maybe Crooked Nose got the things.”

“If he did, I hope we get Crooked Nose.”

“So do I. I don’t think we’ll get much out of Martley. He’s too deeply
in debt, so I’ve heard.”

Professor Snodgrass was still at the Hopkins home and the boys went
with him on one or two short trips, looking for bugs. But there was, on
their part, not much interest in the work. They were, as was every one
else in town, too much absorbed in the exciting events that followed
the entrance of the United States into the war against Germany.

It was about a week after the fire, when Ned, Bob and Jerry were out
in their automobile, discussing what they would do at the coming term
of school, that they passed a newspaper office and stopped to read the
bulletin.

“Look at that, fellows!” cried Jerry.

“What is it?” asked Bob, whose view was obstructed by Ned.

“It’s a call for volunteers to fight the Kaiser,” was the answer.
“There may be a draft, later, fellows, and the volunteers are the boys
who go first!” Jerry rose in his seat to read the bulletin over the
heads of the crowd.

“The first call for volunteers,” he murmured. Then, with a suddenness
that was startling, he exclaimed:

“Fellows, this hits us! I’m going to offer myself to Uncle Sam! Are you
with me?”




CHAPTER VII

CHUNKY’S TROUBLE


Ned Slade clapped Jerry Hopkins on the back with such vigor that the
latter almost lost his balance.

“What does that mean?” Jerry asked.

“It means I’m with you!” was the answer. “We’ll all enlist and start
for the other side as soon as they’ll let us! I was just wishing for
some excuse to get out of going back to Boxwood Hall, and this’ll be it
all right!”

“Do you think we can make it?” asked Bob. “I mean will our folks let us
cut school?”

“Oh, I guess so,” answered Jerry easily, though, to tell the truth, he
had some doubts about it.

“Let’s go somewhere and ask about enlisting,” suggested Ned. “We want
to get into this as soon as we can, and the sooner the better. There
must be some way of finding out the quickest way of getting into the
army.”

“Let’s go and ask Colonel Wentworth,” suggested Jerry. “He’ll know, all
right.”

“You said it!” agreed Ned. “Say, this is great! I wonder if----”

He was interrupted by a cheer from the crowd in front of the bulletin
board.

“Are they applauding our recent determination to enlist?” asked Jerry,
as the car started up the street toward the office of Colonel Wentworth.

“No, it’s just a new item on the bulletin board, about the state
militia being mobilized.”

“That means business,” said Jerry. “Oh, boy! but I hope we can get into
this game from the very start.”

They drove to the office of Colonel Wentworth, who carried on a
real-estate business when he was not making patriotic addresses. They
found the old soldier holding forth to a circle of friends about what
the United States ought to do, and what it ought to avoid, in the
coming conflict.

“Ah, good morning, boys!” he greeted Ned, Bob and Jerry. “Come in and
sit down. I’ll attend to you in just a moment. Now, as I was saying,
Mr. Benson----”

“Oh, we didn’t come on business; that is, not real-estate business,”
said Jerry quickly. “And we don’t want to take up much of your time. We
just want to ask where’s the nearest place to go to enlist, and how do
you do it.”

The eyes of Colonel Wentworth sparkled brightly. He clasped the hand of
Jerry Hopkins and exclaimed:

“What did I tell you, gentlemen? Didn’t I say that the youth of this
land would rally to the colors as soon as the call went forth? Here is
proof of it! Boys, I’m proud of you! Cresville will be proud of you!
And generations to come will be proud of you!”

The colonel seemed starting on one of his orations, but he caught
himself in season and said:

“There is no time like the present. There is a recruiting station of
the regular army at Richfield,” naming the nearest large city. “I’ll
take you over there and see that you sign up. Are you old enough to
enlist without the consent of your parents? If you’re not we’ll first
stop and see them and----”

“I guess we’d better stop and see them anyhow,” suggested Ned. “We’re
none of us twenty-one yet, and I guess it’d be better to get formal
permission.”

“Yes, it would,” the colonel told them. “I have not the slightest doubt
in the world but what the consent will be given, but it makes it easier
if it is first obtained.”

“We’ll go home then,” went on Ned, “and get the consents in writing.
What we wanted to know was the nearest place to volunteer, and you’ve
told us that.”

“Glad to have done it!” exclaimed the enthusiastic colonel. “Don’t
hesitate to call on me if I can be of the slightest assistance to you.
Good-bye and good luck!”

And, as they left his office, Ned, Bob and Jerry could hear the former
soldier telling his friends:

“That’s the spirit of ’Seventy-six reincarnated! That’s what’s going to
beat the Kaiser!”

“I hope we get a shot at him all right,” murmured Jerry, as they went
down to their automobile. “What do you think about your folks, Ned?
Will they let you go?”

“Oh, I guess so. I heard dad saying the other night he wished he was
young enough to enlist, so he ought to be glad to have me take his
place.”

“I fear my mother will make a fuss at first,” said Jerry, “but she’ll
give in finally, I think. The one trouble will be about school. She has
her heart set on having me graduate from Boxwood Hall.”

“Oh, well, you can come back and finish the course,” said Ned. “How
does it strike you, Chunky? You won’t be sorry to cut the books, will
you?”

“No, I guess not,” was the rather slow answer. “Oh, of course I’ll be
glad to get out of going back to Boxwood Hall. It’s nice there, and all
that, but I’d rather go to a soldier’s camp.”

There was something in the way Bob spoke that made Ned remark to Jerry,
a little later:

“I wonder what’s the matter with Chunky? He didn’t seem to enthuse very
much.”

“No, he didn’t, that’s a fact,” admitted Jerry. “Maybe he has a little
indigestion.”

“I should think he would have, the way he eats. But I don’t believe
it’s indigestion this time. Something’s wrong with Bob, and I’d like to
know what it is.”

But Ned was so occupied with his own affairs, wondering whether or not
his parents would consent to his enlisting, that he did not give the
matter of his stout chum much consideration just then.

As might have been expected, there was a momentary opposition on the
part of Mrs. Hopkins as regarded Jerry, and on the part of Mr. and Mrs.
Slade and Mr. and Mrs. Baker as to their sons. And it was not from any
lack of patriotism. It was merely that they felt the boys were a little
too young to be of real service to their country.

“If you were a little older, I’d at once say go,” said Mrs. Hopkins to
Jerry. “I want you to serve your country. But I think you can best do
it, now, by getting a good education, and enlisting later.”

“It may be too late then, Mother,” said Jerry. “There is talk of a
draft, and while those who go under the forced call will be just as
good soldiers as the volunteers, I’d like to volunteer.”

“But what about school? I don’t want to see you lose all the advantage
your studies will give you.”

“I can take them up later.”

Both Jerry and his mother, as did other boys and other parents, seemed
to ignore the chance that there would be many who would not come back.
But it is always that way, and it is a good thing it is.

“What are Bob’s parents, and Ned’s, going to do?” asked Mrs. Hopkins.

“I’ll find out,” answered Jerry.

In the end there was a family council, and the matter was gone over in
detail. The boys were so much in earnest, as the war fervor swept over
the country, that Mr. Slade said:

“Well, I don’t see, as patriotic citizens, that we can do any less than
let our boys do their share. They are strong and healthy. There will be
no trouble about passing the physical tests, I imagine.”

“The only trouble is about school,” said Mr. Baker. “The spring term is
about to begin, and I understand there are some important studies to be
taken up in anticipation of the final examinations.”

“There are,” said Ned. “But we aren’t the only ones who will be out of
school. Lots of the boys are volunteering. And some have already gone
to France to drive ambulances or fly aeroplanes. Fully a score of the
fellows we know, and some we aren’t intimate with, won’t come back to
Boxwood Hall.”

“Are you sure about this?” asked his father.

“I had it from Professor Snodgrass,” was the answer, for by the time
of this family council the scientist had returned to Boxwood Hall.
“And, what’s more, a lot of the members of the faculty are going to
volunteer, also. Boxwood Hall won’t be the same place it was before the
war.”

“Well, in that case,” said Mr. Baker, “probably some rules will be made
about those who drop out on account of volunteering. They may be given
certain credits, and allowed to make up the lost time by degrees. I
don’t see, Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Slade, but what the boys have won their
point.”

“Then are we to consent to their enlisting?” asked Jerry’s mother,
and she was not ashamed of the tears in her eyes nor the catch in her
voice, for Jerry was an only son and his mother was a widow. When Jerry
went there would be only his sister Susie left.

“I shall consent to Ned’s going,” said Mr. Slade.

“And Bob has my permission,” added Mr. Baker. “He’s getting too stout,
anyhow. It may do him good.”

“You may go, Jerry,” said Mrs. Hopkins.

“Fine, Mother! I knew you’d say I might! And now, boys, let’s go and
see Colonel Wentworth and find out what the next step is.”

They hurried to their automobile and were soon speeding toward the
office of the former soldier. He received them with delight, and gave
them a letter of introduction to the recruiting officer at Richfield.

“Let’s go right over and sign up!” proposed Ned eagerly.

“Might as well,” added Ned. “How about it, Chunky?”

“Well, I s’pose if we’re going to enlist we’ve got to sign, or do
something, but I was thinking we might wait a few days and----”

“Wait?” cried Jerry.

“What for?” demanded Ned.

Bob did not answer at once, but on his face there was a troubled look.
His chums wondered what it meant.




CHAPTER VIII

A PRO-GERMAN MEETING


“Look here, Chunky!” exclaimed Jerry, after a quick glance at Ned, “I
may as well say what’s on my mind, and get it out of my system. Both
Ned and I have been wondering about you, lately.”

“Wondering about me?”

“Yes, about the way you’re acting on this enlistment business. You want
to volunteer and join the army, don’t you?”

“Why, yes, sure I do.”

“Well, you don’t act very happy over it,” put in Ned. “You were
enthusiastic at the start, and then you simmered out. Are you getting
cold feet? You’re not----”

“I’m not _afraid_, if that’s what you mean!” blurted out Bob.

“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” put in Ned, quickly. “No one who
knows you, as Jerry and I know you, would ever accuse you of that.
You’ve gone through too many tight and dangerous places with us to have
us say that you’re afraid. And yet something has happened, hasn’t it?”

“Well, yes, I s’pose you could call it that,” assented Bob slowly.

“Are you going to renege in the matter of volunteering?” asked Jerry.

“No.”

“But you aren’t as keen on it as you were at first!” declared Ned.
“What’s the matter, Bob? Are you in trouble, Chunky, old man?” and he
put his arm affectionately over his chum’s shoulder.

“Yes, fellows, I am in trouble,” said Bob, and he spoke desperately. “I
almost wish I hadn’t agreed to enlist! That I’d waited for the draft,
and then----”

“What are you saying?” cried Jerry in amazement.

“Well, I mean that then I’d have a good excuse to go to war, and
I couldn’t help myself,” and Bob floundered a good deal in his
explanation.

“Why do you need an excuse?” asked Jerry.

“Oh, well, I suppose I may as well tell you.”

“Wait a minute!” broke in Ned. “Bob, this is getting a bit personal, I
know, but the end justifies the means, I think. Have you been to see
Miss Schaeffer lately?”

Bob looked up quickly.

“Last night,” he answered. “You ought to know. You left me there in the
car.”

“So I did. But I have a reason for asking. Doesn’t her father own some
stock in a Boston German paper?”

“I believe he does,” said Bob.

“And the paper has been one of the strongest advocates against the
United States taking any part in this war, as I happen to know,”
went on Ned. “It came out flatly, and justified the sinking of the
_Lusitania_ on the ground that it was carrying munitions to England.
The same paper has taunted Uncle Sam, since the declaration of war,
with siding with our old enemy, Great Britain. Am I right, Chunky?”

“I suppose it’s true. But Helena hasn’t anything to do with the paper.”

“No, but she can’t help siding with her father, and he helps to dictate
the policy of that slanderous German sheet! Bob, tell me the truth;
isn’t the Schaeffer family pro-German?”

“Well, I suppose they are. It’s natural----”

“It isn’t natural!” burst out Jerry. “If any so-called German-Americans
want to side with the Kaiser let them go back to Germany where they
belong. Uncle Sam hasn’t any use for ’em! Bob, I didn’t think this of
you!”

“Oh, don’t be too severe on Chunky!” interposed Ned. “He hasn’t done
anything yet. I know just what the situation is, I think. Bob, you have
come to the parting of the ways. You’ve either got to go with us or
stay home. What are you going to do? I can see, of late, that you have
been rather cold toward this enlistment proposition. Now that won’t do.
If you want to wait for the draft, well and good. That’s your business,
of course. But we’d hate to see you do it.”

“I should say so!” agreed Jerry. “I never dreamed of this. What does it
all mean?”

“It’s his girl--Helena Schaeffer,” said Ned. “Isn’t it true, Bob, that
she has spoken to you against volunteering?”

“Yes, she has, and that’s what makes me worry. I was going to keep
still about it, and try to work everything out myself. But I don’t
believe I can. You know-- Oh, well, I’m awfully fond of Helena, and I
think she likes me, a little. This is among friends, of course.”

“Of course,” murmured Jerry and Ned.

“And she’s as good as said that if I enlist to fight against Germany,
when her father is so fond of the old Kaiser, and what he represents,
that she’ll--well--she and I will have to part company, that’s all!”
and Bob blurted out the words.

“What are you going to do?” and Ned asked the question relentlessly.
This was no time for half-way measures, he felt.

Bob did not answer for a moment. They were talking in the street in
front of Colonel Wentworth’s office. And then, at what seemed a most
opportune moment, a phonograph in a near-by store began playing one of
the popular songs of the day; a song with the lilt of marching steps
and an appeal for every one to do his duty and fight for Uncle Sam.

Bob straightened up. His eyes grew brighter and he squared his
shoulders in a way his chums well know.

“Boys!” he exclaimed, “I’ve been a fool to hold back one minute on this
thing. If you’ll wait a little while, I’ll come back and give you my
answer. And you don’t have to guess what it is, either.”

He started off down the street.

“Where are you going?” demanded Jerry.

“I’m going to have a talk with Helena,” Bob answered.

“Wait and we’ll take you to her corner in the auto. Might as well ride
as walk,” called Ned. “We’ll wait for you at my house.”

Jerry and Ned did not say much to Chunky during the ride. They thought
it best to let him work out the problem in his own way. And it was
better done without suggestion from them.

“See you later,” said Ned, as his stout chum left the car and started
down the street toward the Schaeffer home.

“What do you think he’ll do?” asked Jerry, as Ned turned the car in
the direction of his own home.

“The right thing,” answered Ned. “Chunky is all right. It’s just that
he’s a little fascinated by Helena, who, to do her justice, is a mighty
pretty girl. It’s too bad she has pro-German tendencies. And yet it
isn’t so much her as it is her father who influences her. She is a nice
girl, and mighty sensible, too, except on this one point. I know, for
I’ve been there with Chunky. That’s why I happened to know how the bug
had bitten him.

“Even before we got into this war against Germany Mr. Schaeffer was
ranting about the unneutrality of this country, and declaring that we
were favoring England and France and discriminating against the Kaiser.
I wish we’d done more of it! We wouldn’t have it so hard as we’re going
to have it from now on.”

“But about Chunky. Do you think he’ll tell his friend that he is going
to enlist and let her make the best of it?” asked Jerry.

“Or the worst--yes. I think Bob will do just that. He was wobbling the
least bit, but I think he’s on his feet now. We’ll wait for him to come
back.”

Meanwhile Bob Baker was having his own troubles. He had made the
acquaintance of Miss Schaeffer some time before, when it seemed there
would be never a question as to what nationality a person claimed. But
the war had made a difference.

As Ned had stated, Mr. Schaeffer was one of the owners of a rabid
German paper, published in Boston, and the editorial policy was against
anything French or English, and against the United States helping the
Allies in any way.

When the United States formally entered the war the sheet did not dare
come out and openly espouse the cause of Germany, but in underhand ways
and by sly insinuations it sought to deprecate the cause of the Allies
and tried to say, only too plainly, that the United States had no
business entering the war, and that the youth of the land would do well
to keep out of it. In other words it discouraged enlisting.

Just what took place between Chunky and Helena, Bob never disclosed in
detail. Ned and Jerry felt it would be indelicate to do that, and they
never asked much about the matter.

Poor Bob put in a bad quarter of an hour, and when he left the
Schaeffer home his step was not as buoyant as when he entered. But
there was a look of determination on his face, and he seemed relieved,
as though he had got rid of a weight.

“Well?” asked Jerry, as Bob joined his two chums a little later. “How
about you?”

“I’m ready to go and sign up whenever you are,” was the quiet answer.

“Good!” exclaimed Ned, clapping Chunky on the back with such right good
will that the stout lad almost lost his balance.

“I told you how it would be,” whispered Ned to Jerry, and the latter
nodded comprehendingly.

“Have any trouble?” asked Ned. “I mean did she break with you?”

“Oh, not exactly,” answered Bob. “But things are not as pleasant as
they were. It’s her father, though, not Helena.”

“That’s what we thought,” said Jerry. “Well, I’m glad it’s over. Now
we’ll be three together once more. Too bad it had to happen, Chunky,
but it’s better to come out and know where you stand.”

“That’s right,” agreed the stout lad. “I’m going to do my duty.
Friendship doesn’t count in this war. It’s duty.”

“You said something!” commented Ned. “And now to take the step that
will put us in the fight formally for Uncle Sam and against the Kaiser.
We’ll go and volunteer!”

“That’s what I’ve been wanting to do right along,” declared Chunky;
“but I didn’t want to break with Helena if I could help it. She says
she doesn’t see why I have to enlist, why I can’t wait for the draft,
and all that. She says maybe there won’t be any draft if there’s enough
opposition to it. But I’m going to volunteer.”

So the three boys started for Richfield, where the nearest enlistment
station was located.

As they drove down the street their attention was attracted by a large
notice posted on the door of the auditorium.

“Another patriotic meeting?” asked Jerry.

“Wait until I get out and see what it is,” suggested Ned.

He sprang from the car and ran up the steps. When he came back there
was a queer look on his face.

“What is it?” asked Bob.

“A rotten pro-German meeting!” was the righteously angry answer. “It’s
a meeting at which Mr. Schaeffer is going to preside, and it is called
for the purpose of protesting against any person being sent to fight
outside of the boundaries of the United States!”

“Do you know, fellows, they oughtn’t to allow ’em to hold that
meeting!” exploded Bob, who, now that he had made his decision, was as
enthusiastic as his chums.




CHAPTER IX

A FIGHT IN THE DARK


Jerry and Bob got out of the automobile to go up to read the notice for
themselves. As Ned had informed them, a meeting was called, on whose
behalf was not stated, to protest against the reported action of the
military authorities in sending recruits to do battle on foreign soil.

“We will defend our own country to the last ditch,” was one of the
statements made, “but we will not send our youth of the land abroad to
fight for foreign kings!”

“Bah, that makes me sick!” declared Jerry. “What do they want to do?
Wait until the foreign Kaiser comes over here to kill our women and
children before they’re willing to fight?”

“Looks so,” admitted Ned.

“Well, it won’t look so long!” announced Jerry. “I agree with you, Bob,
that this meeting ought not to be held. It’s encouraging sedition. The
military authorities ought to know about it.”

“Let’s tell Colonel Wentworth!” suggested Ned.

“Yes, we’ll tell him and also let the recruiting officer in Richfield
know about it,” agreed Jerry. “The military authorities may want to
have a representative present to listen to the talk. If some of these
pro-Germans get too rambunctious they may get sat on.”

“And I’d like to do some of the sitting!” added Ned.

“I’ll help,” offered Chunky.

“And that will be some aid,” laughed Jerry, as he looked at his stout
friend.

“Yes, that’s what we’ll do--tell the colonel and the recruiting
officer,” went on Jerry. “I’ve read about some of these meetings being
held in other places. They are started, financed and encouraged by
German agents here, the same agents that sent out the warning against
sailing on the _Lusitania_! The wretches! Boys, this meeting ought not
to be held!” And there were peculiar looks that passed back and forth
among the three chums.

“Do you remember,” asked Ned, reminiscently, as they motored onward,
“that the seniors were going to hold a meeting at Boxwood Hall, once,
and that we broke it up?”

“I should say I do remember!” exclaimed Jerry.

“Well--” Ned spoke suggestively.

“Oh,” said Jerry.

Bob’s eyes showed interest.

“Something doing?” he queried.

“Better hang around a bit and watch,” advised his tall chum.

“You get my meaning, I see,” said Ned, with a laugh.

The recruiting officer at Richfield was both interested and delighted at
the call of the boys. He was delighted at getting such fine-appearing
recruits, for the motor boys were above the average in physique, though
it could not be denied that Bob was a bit fat.

“But a few setting up exercises will take that off you in jig time,”
said the recruiting officer.

His interest, too, was keen on getting the information the boys had to
give about the pro-German meeting.

“So they are starting already, are they?” demanded Lieutenant Riker.
“Well, we’ll have to expect that. However, they must not go too
far--these pacifists and these lovers of the Kaiser. Uncle Sam is
pretty easy; too easy, I say, but he has a long arm. I’m much obliged
to you boys for the information. I’ll have one or two regular men
there, just to listen and to report to the Department of Justice. And
as for you----”

“Oh, we’ll be there!” exclaimed Jerry. “We wouldn’t miss it. We are
going to tell Colonel Wentworth about it, and he may have something to
suggest.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did,” commented Lieutenant Riker with a
smile. “Well, I’ll leave that part to you. Now about this enlistment.
It’s fine of you to be among the first to come in. There’ll be plenty
more too, when they find out a draft is coming.

“Not that it is to the discredit of any one to be in the selective
service, as it is going to be called,” he went on. “No higher honor can
come to a man. But the advantage of enlisting is that you can pick your
own branch of service, and that will be of value. Have you boys any
idea where you’d like to be?”

“I’d like aeroplane work,” said Jerry. “We’ve had experience in that.”

“I was thinking of submarines,” put in Ned.

“Why not the artillery?” asked Bob. “You know we had a little to do
with explosives when we went out west to our mine.”

“I see you boys know a little something about all three branches of
the service,” commented the lieutenant. “Well, perhaps it will be
best for you to volunteer for the infantry at first, and, later, make
application to be transferred. You can do this as long as you have
volunteered.”

“That’s what we’ll do,” said Jerry. So, having formally enlisted, with
the consent of their parents, the boys were told that word would be
sent to them in a few days where to report for preliminary examinations
and training.

“And now we’ll get back and see about that meeting!” exclaimed Jerry.

“I shall be interested in the outcome,” said the recruiting officer.

“I hope you won’t be _disappointed_,” remarked Jerry, with a smile.

Colonel Wentworth was at once interested and indignant.

“The idea!” he exclaimed. “What! allowing a pro-German meeting in
Cresville? And especially when some of her sons are going to be in the
new army! It’s infamous!”

“What had we better do?” asked Ned.

“We’d better do something to teach these scoundrels a lesson!” declared
the colonel, who was a good deal of a “fire-eater,” though no finer
patriotic gentleman lived. “I’ll speak to some of my friends, and we’ll
be at the meeting.”

“We expect to do the same,” said Bob. “We have some friends, too. We’ll
all be there.”

“Of course,” went on the colonel, “every man is entitled to his own
opinion, to a certain extent. But I don’t believe that when we are at
war a set of men who, for their own advancement came over here to make
money, can, when war is declared against the country they used to live
in, side with that country and against the land that has given them
everything they have, and has made them everything they are. There
should be no more German-Americans! We should all be Americans. And
any meeting or gathering that tends to foster this divided spirit,
any gathering of misguided individuals which has for an object the
weakening of our righteous war-like spirit, should be broken up.”

“And we’ll attend to the breaking-up!” exclaimed Jerry. “Come on, boys!
We’ve got lots to do!”

And for the rest of that day Ned, Bob and Jerry were very busy.

There was a large gathering at the meeting held under the auspices of
the “Friends of Liberty,” as they called themselves. Just who the prime
movers were was not certain, but some men, whose names proclaimed their
former nationality, whatever it might be now, were actively engaged in
making the arrangements. Among them was Mr. Schaeffer, who was seen
hurrying to and fro from the front entrance to the rooms back of the
stage, where the speakers were sequestered.

Ned, Bob and Jerry, with some of their chums, were among the early
arrivals at the hall. Bob took a survey over the audience and bowed to
some one.

“Some one else we can get to help when the row starts?” asked Jerry.

“It’s Helena,” answered Bob, and he seemed a trifle uneasy. “Say, boys,
what are we going to do about the women and girls?” he asked. “We
don’t want any of them roughly treated.”

“There won’t be any rough treatment,” said Jerry. “All those who wish,
will be given a chance to leave the hall peaceably first.

“And then the whole thing may fizzle out. It all depends on the line of
talk the speakers hand out. Lieutenant Riker said we’re not to stand
for anything seditious, or that would tend to discourage recruiting. It
may be that these Kaiserites will only generalize and not particularize
enough to give us cause for action. We’ve got to wait. But don’t worry
about Helena. She’ll be all right, whatever happens.”

Bob seemed easier after this, but it was noticed that his gaze strayed
often toward that section of the hall where Miss Schaeffer sat.

Meanwhile her father and two or three other members of the committee
hurried to and fro. If Mr. Schaeffer saw the boys, he did not speak to
them.

The meeting opened peaceably enough with a statement by Mr. Schaeffer
to the effect that war was a terrible thing, and something to be
avoided by all peace-loving people, which was the kind making up the
population of the United States. If other nations wanted to engage in
battle, let them, was his argument. But let them keep away from those
who did not want to fight. Of course, he suggested, there were certain
rights which must be upheld, and on these other speakers would dwell.
He introduced Adolph Pfeiffer as the principal orator of the evening.

There were a few murmurs as Mr. Schaeffer sat down, but nothing
serious. He had not come out strongly enough to warrant any open
challenge, though his weak and lack-of-back-bone policy made some of
the audience sneer. Ned, Bob and Jerry looked over toward several
regular soldiers seated not far from them. They had been sent by
Colonel Riker, but they gave no sign that there was any need for action
yet.

Mr. Pfeiffer was a lawyer, and his name indicated his leanings. He
began by counseling patience and prudence, and dwelt on the legal
aspects of war, what belligerents had a right to do, and what was
against international law. Then he spoke of the entrance of the
United States into the war, and he did not challenge the right of the
government to make such a declaration.

“But I do say,” he went on, after a short pause, “that the United
States has no right to send our boys across the water to fight with the
French and the English against Germany. The United States has no right
to do that!”

“Why not?” some one in the audience demanded.

“Because it is a violation of constitutional rights. We may defend our
land from an invasion, but Germany is not going to invade us. It is not
right to send our soldiers to fight her.”

“That’s right!” cried Mr. Schaeffer. “This war is not a good war. We
should not go abroad to fight Germany. Our country is doing wrong and
we should not uphold her when she----”

“Treason! Treason!” came the cries from all over the hall.

[Illustration: “TREASON! TREASON!” CAME THE CRIES FROM ALL OVER THE
HALL.]

“I guess it’s time to start something!” exclaimed Ned, starting to his
feet. On one side of the hall he saw the soldiers rising. On the other
Colonel Wentworth was shaking his fist at the men on the platform, and
shouting something that could not be heard.

“There’ll be a riot in a minute!” cried Bob, as he started toward that
part of the hall where Helena Schaeffer had been sitting.

“There’s going to be a fight, I guess,” said Jerry calmly. And then he
yelled: “Let the women and children get out! This is no place for them!”

There were some frightened screams and squeals, and a rush on the part
of a number of women to reach the exits. Ushers helped them, and a
quick glance showed Bob that Helena had gone with them.

Meanwhile the men on the platform, the German-American speakers, were
holding a hasty consultation. Colonel Wentworth was advancing up
the aisle, calling for three cheers for the stars and stripes, and the
singing of the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

“Quiet! Quiet!” roared Mr. Schaeffer, his Teutonic accent coming back
to him. “Sit down. You have no right to interrupt this peaceable
meeting, Colonel Wentworth!”

“That’s the trouble with it! It’s too peaceful--too traitorous!” cried
the former soldier. “I call on all good Americans to put an end to this
seditious talk!” he shouted.

“We’re with you to the finish!” exclaimed Jerry.

“Put ’em out!” some one called.

“Don’t stand for any seditious talk!” advised some one beside the
colonel.

Ned, Bob and Jerry kept together. They saw half a dozen soldiers,
regulars from the recruiting station, walking toward the platform.

Just then some one threw a chair over the heads of the crowd toward the
platform. It broke some of the electric lights with pops like those of
a distant revolver.

“It’s a shame to stop our speakers!” declared a man next to Jerry, and
his voice was unmistakably German.

“Oh, is it? Say, what kind of an American are you?” asked Ned.

“Chust as goot vot you are!” came the quick answer. “I show you dot you
can’t----!”

He aimed a blow at Ned, who, to guard himself quickly raised his arm,
and, in so doing, accidentally struck the German in the face. The
latter let out a roar, and at once began to fling his arms around like
flails.

“Grab him!” cried Jerry to Bob, who was beside Ned.

In another instant fights started in several parts of the hall, and
there were shouts and yells, some calling for order and others yelling
just from excitement.

“There’s going to be a fight!” joyously cried Jerry. “Stick together,
boys!”

An instant later the lights went out, and the fight, spreading to all
parts of the auditorium, became general in the darkness. There was the
sound of blows, the crashing of chairs, and the shouts of the enraged
ones.




CHAPTER X

THE PARTING


None of the motor boys had a very clear idea, during the mêlée or
afterward, of what went on. Jerry said some one hit him several times,
and he hit back. This much was certain because one of his hands was so
bruised that he had to have it bandaged.

Ned declared he knocked one man down, a man who spoke with a very
pronounced German accent, until Ned rather spoiled the accent by
contriving to have his fist collide with the mouth of the person who
was muttering something about “_Der Tag_.”

“His _day_ came right then and there,” explained Ned afterward. “Only
it was good night for his.”

As for Bob, he declared that, in the dark, he was struck on all sides
at once.

In the dark no one could tell whom he was hitting. The fight kept up,
the din growing greater until it was deafening, until a cry for order,
led by several men in concert, came. These men were the soldiers.

Some one managed to light a solitary gas jet in a corner of the hall,
and by the gleam the swaying, struggling mass could be observed.
Fortunately the women and girls had gotten out, or they might have been
hurt. As it was, they stood outside and screamed, probably because of
fear for their men relatives inside. Then some one switched on all the
lights, and with that the fight stopped.

There were a few bloody noses, and some eyes that, in the process of
time, would turn black, blue and other hues, there were torn collars
and garments, while a number of chairs were overturned.

But when Ned, Bob and Jerry looked toward the stage it was deserted.
The chairs that had been filled with honorary vice-chairmen, were
empty. Mr. Pfeiffer was absent. So was Mr. Schaeffer. In fact, of all
the German-Americans who had undertaken to conduct the meeting not one
was in sight. They had sneaked off in the confusion and the darkness.
The meeting was most effectively broken up.

“Well, things came off as we expected,” remarked Jerry, tying his
handkerchief around his injured hand.

“But not in just the way we had counted on,” said Ned.

This was true, for the boys had planned that one of them should call
for three cheers for the flag, and demand that the band play the
national anthem.

It was expected that this would be objected to by those in charge of
the meeting, and then there would be a good chance to denounce those
responsible, and an opportunity for breaking up the gathering. This
had been Colonel Wentworth’s plan, but events had shaped themselves
differently. The putting out of the lights had not been planned by the
motor boys.

With the withdrawal of the leading pro-Germans, their sympathizers in
the audience soon went out, leaving the place well filled with loyal
citizens. Colonel Wentworth, seeing a chance to make a speech, at once
took charge of matters, and organized a patriotic meeting then and
there. This was turning the tables on the pro-Germans with a vengeance.

Ned, Bob and Jerry remained for a while, and then, as Jerry’s hand was
getting painful, the motor boys left and went to a near-by drug store.

As might be expected, the breaking up of the pro-German meeting created
a stir in the town. On all sides, save among those who might, because
of their nationality, be expected to differ, there were heard words of
commendation. And when Ned, Bob and Jerry called on Lieutenant Riker,
to get some final instructions about their enlistment, the soldier
grinned broadly as he asked:

“Any more meetings of the ‘Friends of Liberty’ scheduled for your town?”

“Not just at present,” laughed Jerry.

There was some talk, on the part of those who had called the meeting,
of proceeding against those who had broken it up. Mr. Pfeiffer, the
lawyer, was loudest in this talk.

But he did nothing, and his talk finally ceased with conspicuous
abruptness, probably, as Jerry remarked, on the advice of more prudent
friends. At the same time there was a noticeable cessation in the
activities of the pro-Germans.

“But I don’t suppose you’ll dare go to call on Helena now,” said Ned to
Bob one day.

“No,” was the somewhat disconsolate answer. “I don’t believe it would
be just the thing.”

“Especially if Mr. Schaeffer were at home,” observed Jerry.

The breaking up of the meeting had one good effect. Though a stickler
for strict justice might condemn the method used, there followed,
nevertheless, a stimulation to recruiting. When it became known that
Ned, Bob and Jerry had enlisted and expected soon to be sent to the
nearest training station, there was a wave of patriotism in Cresville,
and many mothers and fathers were in despair on account of very young
boys who wanted to join the colors.

It required no little tact to get such off the notion, but to the
credit of the home-folk be it said that in no case, where a boy was
physically fit, and of the proper age, did he have to hold back because
of the objection of parents.

Those were stirring days, and events moved swiftly. Once the motor boys
had made up their minds that it was the right thing to enlist, they
were eager to be off to the training camp.

Lieutenant Riker told them they would probably be sent to a cantonment
in one of the Southern states, which shall be called Camp Dixton, for a
period of training.

“How long will that last?” asked Ned. “When can we go to France and do
some real fighting?”

“You’ll go as soon as you are fit,” answered the experienced soldier.
“It would be a mistake to send you abroad now. You would do more harm
than good--I mean raw troops in the aggregate. You must be trained, and
taught how to take care of yourselves. Why, even the period of training
in how to meet gas attacks alone will take some time. Don’t be in too
much of a hurry. Learn the business of war and fighting first, and then
you’ll be able to deal the Boche so much harder blows.”

This was good advice, and the boys, in their calmer moments,
appreciated it; but it was hard to be inactive. At last the day came
when they were to part from their parents and friends in Cresville.
They did not need to take much with them, for they would be fitted out
in camp.

Up to this time nothing more had been heard concerning the gold watch
and the diamond brooch lost in the fire, nor had anything more been
learned of the French engraver’s money or of the mysterious Crooked
Nose.

“It’s good-bye to our motor boat and auto and aeroplane for a while,”
said Ned, with a sigh, as the boys made their way to the station,
having parted with their parents at home.

“Yes, but what we know about running them may come in handy later,”
remarked Jerry.

On their way to the station they met other boy friends who had also
enlisted, and as they reached the depot they saw a crowd there to give
them a send-off.

“And look who’s here to kiss little Bob good-bye!” exclaimed Ned.

“Who is it?” asked Chunky.

“Miss Helena Schaeffer,” was the answer. “Oh, Bob! Oh, boy! Go to it!”




CHAPTER XI

OFF TO CAMP DIXTON


Bob Baker did not flinch in what might be called the “face of the
enemy.”

True, Helena was not exactly an enemy, though her father had helped
to organize the pro-German meeting. But Helena was a girl who, in a
measure, thought for herself. She did not altogether agree with the
opinions held by her father and his Fatherland friends, though she had
heard many stories of the achievements of the Kaiser and his chosen
ones. Also she had heard, not from her father, other stories that
reflected anything but glory on German arms.

And so, when Helena knew that the motor boys were about to take the
train that, eventually, would land them at Camp Dixton, she decided to
go to say good-bye to Bob Baker.

Naturally, she did not tell her father of her intention, and,
naturally, Mr. Schaeffer was as far as possible from the station from
which the recruits departed. He did not care to see such activities on
the part of loyal Cresvillians in favor of Uncle Sam.

It was a violation of the constitutional rights of the young men to be
placed in a position where they might have to fight on foreign soil,
Mr. Schaeffer claimed. Mr. Pfeiffer had said so and he ought to know.

“Well, Helena, I am glad to see you,” remarked Bob, when he found
himself near the blue-eyed girl.

“Are you?” she inquired, and her voice was not very warm.

“Of course I am!” he insisted. “It’s no end good of you to come down to
see me off.”

“Well, I thought I’d come,” she said, a bit shyly. “I--I’m sorry we had
that little difference of opinion. But you know--you know, I’ve always
liked you, Bob.”

“I hope so, Helena.”

“But you know war is a terrible thing!”

“Are you sorry to see me go?”

“Of course I am! I’m afraid you won’t come back.” And for the first
time she showed a little emotion.

“Oh, I’ll come back all right!” declared Bob, as he took her hand.

“Let go!” she exclaimed. “Some one will see us!”

“I don’t care!” declared the stout one. “I like you a lot, Helena, and
I’m sorry your father----”

“Please don’t speak of him!” she begged quickly. “I must do as my
father says, and, though I like you, I--I--that is, he says--well, he
doesn’t believe in this war!”

“I’m afraid he’ll have to come to believe in it,” said Bob. “We all
will. It’s a war that’s got to be fought to a finish. I’m sorry for the
peace-loving Germans, if there are any, who don’t hold with the Kaiser,
but I’m against all who do! We’re in this war to win, Helena!”

The girl did not answer. She seemed struggling with some emotion. The
distant whistle of a train was heard, and the recruits, some of whom
formed the centers of rather tearful groups, prepared to gather up
their luggage.

“Well, I guess it’s good-bye, Helena,” said Bob, while Ned and Jerry
were bidding farewell to some boy and girl friends, among them Mollie
Horton and Alice Vines.

“Yes, good-bye,” Helena murmured. “I’m sorry you’re going, but I
suppose you know your own business best. Perhaps you will not be gone
for as long as you think.”

“Oh, I guess it will be for a long time,” said Bob. “This war isn’t
going to be over in a hurry. But we’ve all got to do our duty.”

“Well, it’s too bad we can’t all have the same duty,” sighed Helena.
“However, I suppose that can never be. Good-bye, Bob. Write to me when
you get a chance!” and before Bob knew what was happening she had
given him a rather sisterly kiss on his forehead and disappeared in the
crowd.

“Here! Wait a minute!” called Bob, starting after her. But the train
came in just then and there was so much confusion, and such a scramble
to get baggage together and find places in the cars, that Bob did not
get another glimpse of Helena.

A United States regular, Sergeant Mandell, was in charge of the
recruits, having been detailed by Lieutenant Riker to conduct them
safely to Camp Dixton.

“All aboard, boys!” he called. “All aboard!”

“All aboard she is!” echoed Jerry.

“We’re off for the camp!” said Ned.

Bob said nothing, but as soon as he got in his seat he raised the
window and looked out. Helena was not in sight, and, with a sigh, the
stout lad turned away.

A special car had been reserved for the boys from Cresville and
vicinity, who were going away in a body, and the lads now filled the
coach with gay songs and jests. To most of them it was a holiday, a
picnic, but there were some who felt the gravity of the situation, and
who felt that doing their duty in the matter of enlisting was not as
easy as it seemed.

The three motor boys kept together, and soon had stowed away their
possessions and made themselves comfortable.

“Well, this is the first time we ever left Cresville under such
circumstances,” observed Ned, as the train pulled out of the station
amid cheers from those left behind, and a stirring air played by the
band.

“Yes, we’ve gone out on many a trip, but none was just like this,”
agreed Jerry. “I wish the professor could be with us, at least part of
the way. He’d be interested in this bunch.”

“More likely he’d be crawling around on the floor of the car looking
for a new kind of fly,” said Bob, with a chuckle.

Professor Snodgrass had gone back to Boston after his flying visit to
Cresville. But he had promised to go to see them in camp, for it was
evident that, on account of the war, he would not be kept very busy at
Boxwood Hall.

Soon the prospective soldiers in the special car were having the best
of times. They had gotten over the first wrench of parting, and were
having fun. They sang and joked, and Ned, Bob and Jerry entered into
the jollity of the occasion.

“Do we go right into camp?” asked one lad from Cresville.

“No, I believe we first have to stop at Yorktown and go through a
detailed examination,” answered Jerry, who had been making inquiries.
“So far all we’ve gone through has been preliminary; and though we have
enlisted, there is still a lot of red tape to go through. They’ll sift
us out at Yorktown.”

“You mean separate the sheep from the goats!” laughed Ned.

“Something like that, yes,” Jerry admitted.

So they traveled on. At each stop there was a rush to get papers, if
any were available, so the recruits might know the latest news in
regard to the war. There were flaming headlines, but not much real
news, as events were, as yet, hardly shaped. But everything went to
show that Uncle Sam had at last decided to get into the war on a
wholesale scale.

“When’s the next stop?” asked Bob, as the conductor came through on one
of his trips.

“Oh, in about half an hour. But that isn’t Yorktown.”

“No, I know it isn’t.”

“Chunky wants to know if there’s a lunch counter there,” put in Ned,
grinning.

“Oh, yes, sort of one;” and the conductor smiled.




CHAPTER XII

PUG KENNEDY


“Say, look here!” blustered Bob, when the conductor had passed on.
“Just because I ask about the next station doesn’t mean that I want to
eat _all_ the while.”

“You aren’t eating _all_ the while,” said Ned. “This is only the second
in a while since we started.”

“Well, I’m hungry!” declared the stout lad. “Maybe you are, too, only
you’re too proud to admit it.”

“I’m not!” declared Jerry. “Chunky, I second your motion, and I wish my
jaws were in motion right now. I’ll be with you when the crullers nest
again!” he chanted.

“Who said pie?” demanded a voice at the end of the car.

“That bunch up in the middle,” answered another, indicating the motor
boys.

“Is there any chance for a feed?” came a veritable howl from some
hungry lad. “Tell me, oh, tell me, I implore!”

“Next stop,” answered Jerry. “That is,” and he turned to the sergeant
in charge, “unless you have some rations concealed somewhere about your
person,” and he laughed.

“Not a ration,” was the answer. “I suppose there ought to have been
some arrangement made for feeding you boys on the way, but there is
such a rush that it has been overlooked. However, if you are short of
change----”

“Oh, we’ve got the _money_! All we want is _time_ to eat!” came the cry.

“I’ll see to that, then,” said Sergeant Mandell. “If necessary I’ll
have the conductor hold the train for a minute or two, until you can
raid the lunch counter. But mind! everything must be paid for, as I am
responsible.”

Ned, Bob, and Jerry, by common consent, were detailed into a foraging
party on behalf of some of their comrades and a common fund was made up
with which to purchase what food could be found. Then the boys eagerly
waited for the train to arrive at the station where there was a lunch
counter.

And such a rush as there was when the place was announced! The three
motor boys, as treasurers, were accompanied to the counter by a mob of
the boys who for themselves or for companions had orders for everything
in sight.

“I want apple pie!”

“Cherry for mine!”

“Give me peach!”

“What’s the matter with the ‘peachy’ girl behind the counter?” asked
some one, and there were many glances of warm but respectful admiration
cast at the young girl behind the piles of food on the marble shelf.

“Sandwiches--all you got!” demanded Jerry.

“And some crullers, if you haven’t enough pie!” added Bob. “I want a
_lot_ of crullers. You can put ’em in your pocket!” he confided to Ned.

“Put ’em in your pocket? Man, dear! I’m going to put _mine_ in my
_stomach_!”

“Yes, I know. So’m I--most of ’em,” went on Chunky. “But you can stow
away some in your pockets to eat when you get hungry again. They don’t
get as mushy as pie.”

“You’re the limit!” Ned told his chum. “You haven’t had a feed yet, and
you’re thinking of the next one. But go to it! I never felt so hungry
in my life.” So Bob went to it, to the extent of stuffing his pockets
with crullers, and carrying away as much else as he could in his hands.

The girl at the lunch counter would have been swamped, but Jerry
organized a sort of helping corps, and dealt out the food to his fellow
recruits, making payment in due course, until the counter looked as
fields do after a visit from the locusts.

Back to the car, only just in time, rushed the boys, bearing things
to eat to those of their comrades who had remained in their seats, for
some were detailed to remain as a sort of guard over the luggage.

“Ah! This is something like!” exclaimed Bob, as he sat in his seat when
the train had again started, holding a sandwich in each hand, while his
pockets bulged suspiciously.

“You seem pretty well provided for,” remarked Ned to his stout chum, as
the three motor boys sat together again.

“Well, I don’t aim to starve if I can help it,” retorted Bob, as he
munched away.

“You must weigh five or six pounds more,” added Jerry, with a glance at
Bob’s pockets. “That’s dangerous business, old man!”

“What?” asked Bob, pausing half-way to a bite of his sandwich.

“Putting on weight like that. You must remember that you’re not more
than just tall enough to break in under the military requirements, and
if you are too heavy for your height--out you go.”

“You can’t take away my appetite!” exclaimed Bob, but he did not see
Ned wink at Jerry and motion with his head toward the bulging pockets
of the stout lad.

For a time there was a merry scene in the car, where the prospective
soldiers were riding. Hungry appetites were being appeased, and this
caused a line of small talk, which had rather died away after the
first part of the journey.

Many of the lads were friends, and a number knew the motor boys, having
lived in Cresville. Others were from surrounding towns, and some of
them Ned, Bob, and Jerry knew, or had heard about. Others were total
strangers, and one or two seemed quite alone. These had come from small
villages, where not more than one or two had volunteered. One such lad,
who gave his name as Harry Blake, the motor boys made friends with, and
shared their food with him, as he had not seen fit, for some reason or
other, to get off and provide himself.

“Have you any particular branch of the service in view?” asked Jerry of
Harry, as he saw Ned and Bob jointly looking at a paper.

“I did hope to get in the aviation corps, but they tell me it’s pretty
hard.”

“Hard to get in?”

“Well, yes, and hard to learn the rudiments of the game.”

“Oh, no, that isn’t exactly so,” Jerry answered. “Of course I don’t
know much about military aeroplanes, but my friends and I have been
operating airships for some time. It’s comparatively easy, once you get
over the natural fear. Though of course becoming an expert is another
matter. I think you could soon learn. You look as though you were
cool-headed.”

“No, I don’t get excited easily, but I don’t know beans about an
airship. I’ve read a little; but the more I read the more I get
confused. I’d like to understand the principle.”

“Perhaps I can help you,” Jerry said. “I’ve got a book here on
aeroplanes, and my friends and I have helped build some. I can give you
a little book-knowledge for a starter.”

“I wish you would,” pleaded Harry, and then he and Jerry plunged into a
subject that interested them both.

Meanwhile the train rushed on, carrying the recruits nearer to the
training camp, or rather, to the city where they would be given a more
careful examination and separated into units, to be divided among the
various cantonments where Uncle Sam was getting his new armies ready to
face the Kaiser’s veterans.

Jerry had just finished telling Harry something about the way in which
the double rudders controlled an airship--one guiding it up or down,
and the other to left or right, when there came a howl from Bob--a
veritable wail of anguish.

“What’s the matter?” asked Ned, who had moved out of the seat beside
his stout chum, and was sitting back of him. “Did you bite your
tongue?”

“Bite my tongue? Come on! You know better than that. Hand ’em over!”
and Bob, extending his fist, shook it under Ned’s nose.

“Hand what over? What do you mean? If you mean these magazines, I’ve
just started ’em. Besides, they’re mine!”

“No, I don’t mean the magazines, and you know it!” declared Bob.

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you do mean. What’s the row, anyhow?”

“My crullers!” exclaimed Bob. “You snitched ’em out of my pocket when
you were sitting in the same seat with me. Come on; a joke’s a joke,
and I don’t mind if you keep one for yourself, and another for Jerry.
But hand over the rest!”

“The rest of what?” asked Ned, innocently enough.

“Oh, quit! You know! My crullers. I bought ’em to eat when I got
hungry, and now they’re gone,” and in proof Bob stood up and turned
both coat pockets inside out.

“Yes, I see they’re empty,” observed Ned coolly. “But I haven’t got
’em!”

“You have so!”

“Indeed I haven’t. Search me!” and Ned, with an air of injured
innocence, stood up and extended his arms at either side, an invitation
for Bob to feel in his pockets. It was an invitation which the
stout youth did not ignore, and he felt about Ned’s clothes with
thoroughness, and convinced himself that the crullers were, as Ned had
declared, not on his person.

“Well, you know where they are!” declared Bob.

“No, I don’t!”

“Jerry does, then!”

“What’s that?” asked the tall lad, looking up from his book on
aeroplanes, which he and his new acquaintance were going over.

Bob explained, and Jerry’s denial was such that the stout lad felt
inclined to accept it as final. Especially as he remembered that Jerry
had not been near him since the purchase of the food at the lunch
counter.

“Well, somebody’s got my crullers and I’m going to get ’em back!”
exclaimed Bob. “I paid for ’em and I want ’em. A joke’s a joke, but
this is too much! Shell out, fellows!” and he looked around at those
nearest him.

The truth of the matter was that Ned had slyly slipped the bags of
crullers out of the two side pockets of Bob’s coat, and had passed
them, surreptitiously to two fellow conspirators. And then, as is usual
in such cases, the crullers had gone from hand to hand until, reaching
the far end of the car, they had been quickly eaten.

But Bob did not give up. Satisfied that Ned did not have the pastry on
his person, Bob set about a search for it. He walked down the aisle,
looking in various seats, and poking his fingers in the pockets of
those he knew, until he came to the end of the car.

In one of the seats sat a heavily-built youth, whose face was not of a
prepossessing type. He had a sort of bulldog air about him, as though
“spoiling for a fight,” and he had had little to say to the other
recruits.

Bob, looking at the coat of this lad, as the garment was spread out
over the unoccupied half of a seat, made a grab for something in one of
the pockets, at the same time crying:

“Here they are! I knew you’d snitched ’em!” and he pulled out a bag,
and drew therefrom a cruller.

The lad in the seat turned quickly from looking out the window, and,
without a moment’s hesitation, sent his fist into Bob’s face.

“Maybe that’ll teach you to let Pug Kennedy’s things alone!” he
growled.




CHAPTER XIII

IN THE CAMP


Bob, surprised as much by the suddenness of the other’s action as
by the violence of the blow, staggered back, his hands going to his
bruised face. There was a moment of silence, and then Jerry, who had
seen the whole occurrence, cried out in ringing tones:

“Here, fellow, don’t you hit him again!”

“Who says so?” demanded “Pug” Kennedy, as he called himself. “If you’re
looking for trouble come down and get yours!” and he stepped out into
the aisle and struck a characteristic pugilistic attitude.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” said Jerry calmly; “but I like fair
play, and I’m going to see that my friend gets it.”

“Oh, you’re going to butt in, are you?” sneered the other.

“No, I’m not in the habit of doing that,” said Jerry. “But what did you
strike Bob for?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh, yes, it is our business, too,” said Ned, walking up beside Jerry.
Bob’s nose had begun to bleed and he was holding his handkerchief to
it. He seemed dazed, and acted as though he did not know how to account
for what had occurred.

“What happened, Bob?” asked Jerry, as Ned walked up to the
heavily-built lad.

“Why, I was looking for my bag of crullers, and I saw them in his
pocket and----”

“You did not!” burst out Pug Kennedy. “That’s my own grub that I bought
in the station, and if you want to fight for it----”

“What are you always talking about fighting for?” asked Ned suddenly,
as he put out his hand and swung the bully around sharply. “I guess you
aren’t the only one who can do that.”

“Keep your hands off me!” roared Pug Kennedy. “If you’re looking for
trouble----”

“I generally find what I’m looking for,” said Ned softly, and he did
not give back an inch as Kennedy took a quick step forward.

Then, with a quickness that showed he understood considerable about the
pugilistic ring, Kennedy made a sudden shift, and his fist shot out
toward Ned. But the latter was just as quick, and, dodging the blow, he
put out his hand in a stiff arm movement and pushed Kennedy back into
his seat. The bully fell heavily. He tried to get up.

“No you don’t! Just sit there awhile!” cried Ned, and he plumped
himself down on the struggling one, holding him in place.

Seeing how matters were going, the others who had crowded up drew back
as well as they could in the aisle of the swaying car, to give room to
the struggling ones. If there was to be a fight it was no more than
right that it should be a fair one.

“Let me up!” spluttered Pug Kennedy.

“Not until I get ready,” answered Ned coolly.

He could afford to be cool. For he had dodged what Pug had thought was
going to be a “knockout blow” in such a clever way that the bully was
disconcerted, and now Kennedy was held down in such a position that he
could not use his strength to advantage.

But he was strong, Ned had to admit that. Only because of the fact that
he had the larger boy at a disadvantage, sitting on him, so to speak,
and holding him down by bracing his legs against the opposite seat, was
Ned able to keep himself where he was, for Pug struggled hard.

“Just stay there until you cool off a bit,” advised Ned, “and until you
learn not to hit out so with your fists. If you want to fight, we’ll
find some one your size and weight in our crowd to take you on. How
about it, Jerry?”

“I’ll agree if he will,” was the answer, and the tall lad grinned
cheerfully.

“Who said I wanted to fight?” growled Pug Kennedy, as he saw several
unfriendly looks cast in his direction, and noted the athletic build of
Jerry Hopkins.

“Well, you sort of acted that way,” commented Ned, who did not intend
to give the bully the slightest advantage. “What did you want to hit
Bob for?” and he nodded at his chum, who had finally succeeded in
stopping his nose hemorrhage.

“What’d he want to go and shove his hands into my pocket for, without
asking me if he could?” demanded Pug, and it must be admitted that
he really had right on his side. Bob had acted hastily, and perhaps
indiscreetly, considering that he did not know the lad who had had the
encounter with him.

“I was only looking for my crullers,” Bob explained. “Some one took ’em
for a joke, and when I saw the bag in your pocket I thought you had
’em.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” growled Pug, who, in truth, looked
something like the animal from which had come the nickname.

“You didn’t give me a chance,” said Bob. “If you wanted to fight why
didn’t you say so?”

“Well, you mind your own business, and let me alone!” growled the
belligerent one. “And you’d better let me up if you know what’s good
for you!” he added fiercely to Ned.

“Oh, I guess I know my business,” was the calm rejoinder. “At the same
time I’m willing to let you up provided you promise to keep your hands
off my friend. If you want to fight, as I said, that can be arranged.”

“I won’t promise anything!” growled Pug.

“Then you’ll sit there until you do,” observed Ned. There is no telling
how long this deadlock might have kept up, but at this point Sergeant
Mandell, who had been in the smoking car, came back to see how his
recruits were getting on. He took in the scene at a glance.

“Let him up, Slade,” he ordered Ned. “And you, Kennedy, keep quiet.
Remember you’re soldiers now, and you must obey your superiors. For the
time being I am your officer, though I want to be your friend, too. Now
what’s the row?”

It was explained in various ways, but all agreed that Kennedy had
struck first, and with little provocation, for Bob’s action, though
thoughtless, poking his hands into the pockets of another lad, had been
innocent enough.

“You had no right to hit him for that,” declared the sergeant. “But
I am not saying that Baker did exactly right, either. Though it was
natural for him to want his crullers.”

With mutterings and growls, Pug Kennedy shook himself after Ned let him
up, and slunk into his seat, away from the others. Ned, Bob, and Jerry
went back to their places, and quiet was once more restored.

“Bob, old man, I’m sorry,” said Ned. “It was my fault. I did take your
crullers, but I haven’t ’em now. I passed ’em down the line as a joke.
I’ll see if I can get ’em back.”

“Let ’em go, I don’t want ’em,” growled Bob.

It was perhaps a good thing he did not want them, since the crullers
had been eaten. When Ned learned that he offered to buy some more at
the next lunch counter.

But there was no time for this, as Sergeant Mandell said they would
soon reach Yorktown, where they would be quartered until they could be
more carefully examined and a decision arrived at as to where to send
them for preliminary training.

As the motor boys, with their old and new friends, were gathering up
their luggage, preparatory to getting off the train when it should stop
in Yorktown, a lad slipped up to Ned.

“You want to look out for that fellow,” he said in a low voice.

“What fellow?”

“That Pug Kennedy. The one you sat on.”

“Why?”

“Oh, he’s a scrapper and always looking for a fight. He comes from the
same town I do, and he’s licked every boy in it, some bigger than he
is, too.”

“Thanks for telling me,” said Ned. “I’m not afraid of him. But, just
the same, it’s as well to be on the watch. He seems like a bully.”

“He is. He doesn’t mind fighting a fellow smaller than himself. I don’t
like him, but I’ve got to hand it to him--he is some scrapper! I hope
the army takes some of the mean wrinkles out of him.”

“The army is just the place to get it done,” observed Ned. “Thanks for
telling me. See you again some time.”

He looked over to note what Kennedy was doing, but the latter had left
the car. Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their fellow recruits, were formed
into a squad, and, amid the friendly looks of a crowd that gathered at
the station, they marched to the barracks, which were not far away.

“So Pug Kennedy is a scrapper, is he?” observed Jerry, when Ned told
him the result of the talk with the other boy. “Well, it’s as well to
know that first as last. I hope he isn’t sent to our camp. But, if he
is, we’ll have to make the best of it.”

It was noted that “Pug” answered to the title of Michael, and it was
assumed that “Pug” had been the characterization given him because of
his fancied resemblance to a dog of that breed--a resemblance more
real, in certain ways, than fancied.

In the following days the recruits were measured, weighed, tested in
various ways, and finally were all sworn in as privates in the United
States army that was eventually to fight, in France or elsewhere, the
troops of the Central Powers.

To Bob’s distress he was held up by one doctor, as being overweight,
and was close to being rejected. But his chums took him in hand, and
for a day starved him on a most reduced diet, and made him take so much
exercise that Bob lost about five pounds, and passed.

“But it was a close call,” said Jerry, when all was safe. “Don’t go to
stuffing yourself with pie or crullers until after you’re in the camp.
Then they won’t put you out, I dare say.”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Bob, now quite anxious.

And, three days later, the motor boys, with a number of their friends
from Cresville, and with others whom they did not know, including the
unpleasant Pug Kennedy, were sent to Camp Dixton, there to be given a
thorough training for their new life in the army.




CHAPTER XIV

SOMEWHAT DIFFERENT


Out of the gray, chilly, and silent dawn came the sharp notes of a
bugle. The sound echoed among the mist-enshrouded hills, the notes
vibrating in and out among the trees, and then seemed to die away in
the distance.

But if any one of the several thousand prospective soldiers, sleeping
the sleep of the more or less just in the tents of Camp Dixton, thought
it was but a dream, those notes of the bugle, he was sadly, if not
rudely, awakened when the sound came with greater insistence, as if
calling over and over again:

“Get up! Get up! You must get up!”

“I say, Ned!” lazily called Bob from his bed amid the blankets on the
ground under a khaki tent, “what day is it?”

“What difference does that make?” asked Ned. “What time is it?”

“You ought to know without asking, when you hear that _horn_,” grunted
Jerry.

“Horn? Bugle you mean,” came a voice from the other corner of the
tent, if a conical tent, the shape used in the army, can be said to
have “corners.”

“Have it your own way,” assented Jerry. “I’m anxious to know what Bob
meant by asking what day it was.”

“If it’s only Sunday we’ll get a chance to rest,” explained the stout
Chunky, peering out from under his blankets. For he and the others had
wrapped up well, as the night had been chilly.

“Chance to rest!” exclaimed Ned. “Say, we haven’t _done_ anything yet.”

“Done anything!” challenged Bob. “Don’t you call that drill we went
through yesterday anything?”

“Just a little setting up exercise, and some marching to get you to
know your hay foot from your straw foot,” commented the tall lad. “If
you’re going to kick about that the second day in camp what will happen
in about a week?”

“Oh, I’m not kicking,” hastily said Bob. “In fact, I’m too lame and
sore to kick. And my arm feels like a boil.”

“Anti-typhus germs,” explained Ned. “You’ll be a whole lot worse before
you’re better. We have to have two more injections, I understand.”

The rousing notes of the bugle, “rousing” in a double sense, again
sounded, and, not without considerable grumbling and growling, in
which even Jerry, by the look on his face at least, seemed to join,
the boys got up and prepared for another day in camp--their second.

The young volunteers, with a lot of other recruits, had reached the
camp ground the day before, but there was so much confusion, so many
new arrivals, and such a general air of orderly disorder about the
place, that the impressions Ned, Bob, and Jerry received were mixed.

Camp Dixton was situated in one of the Southern states, and was laid
out on a big plain at the foot of some hills, which, as they rose
farther to the west, became sizable mountains. The plain which had,
until within a short time of the laying out of the cantonments, been
several large farms, consisted of level ground, with a few places where
there were low rounded hills and patches of wood. It was an ideal
location for a camp, giving opportunity for drills and sham battles
over as great a diversity of terrain as might be found in Flanders or
France.

As to the camp itself, it was typical of many that have since sprung
up all over the United States to care for the large army, or armies,
that are constantly being raised. And the building of Camp Dixton, like
the making of all the others, had been little short of marvelous. On
what had been, a few months before, a series of farms, there was now a
military city.

The place was laid out like a model city. The barracks for the soldiers
were, of course, made of rough wood, and few of them were painted,
but there was time enough for that. A great level, center space had
been set aside as a parade ground, and in the midst of this was the
division headquarters. North and south of the parade ground were the
long rows of “streets” lined with the wooden buildings, some of which
were sleeping quarters, some cook houses and others places where the
officers lived.

There were long rows of warehouses, into which ran railroad sidings;
there were an ice house, an ice plant, a big laundry, a theater, and
many other buildings and establishments such as one would find in a
city.

As for the military units themselves, there were infantry, cavalry,
machine gun companies, artillery companies, a motor corp and even a
small contingent of aeroplanes.

On their arrival the day before, Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with the other
recruits, had been met at the railroad station by a number of officers,
who looked very spick and span in their olive-drab uniforms, with their
brown leather leggings polished until one could almost see his face in
them.

In columns of four abreast, carrying their handbags and suitcases, the
new soldiers were marched up to camp, a most unmilitary looking lot,
as the boys themselves admitted.

A few at a time, the lads were ushered into booths, where officers took
their names, records, and other details, then they were given something
to eat.

“For all the world like a sort of picnic in a new mining town,” as Ned
wrote home.

Then had come a preliminary drill, and some setting-up exercises. The
boys were so tired out from this, and from their journey, that no one
thought of anything but bed when it was over.

“And now we’ve got to do it all over again,” murmured Bob, as he began
to dress. “This is somewhat different from what we were used to at
home. Home was never like this!”

“Quit your kicking!” exclaimed Jerry. “Aren’t you glad you’re in this,
and are going to help lick the Huns?”

“Sure I am!” declared the stout lad.

“Then keep still about it!”

“Say, I’ve got a right to kick if I want to, as long as I get up when
the bugle calls,” declared Bob. “It’s the constitutional right of a
free-born American citizen to kick, and I’m doing it!”

“Showing you how much like the mule an otherwise perfectly good fellow
can become,” murmured Ned, and then he had to duck to get out of the
way of a shoe that Bob tossed at him.

“Come on, fellows! Hustle!” called a non-commissioned officer,
thrusting his head in the doorway of the tent where the boys were
dressing. “Roll call soon!”

“We’ll be there,” announced Ned. “I hope we get shifted to one of the
barracks to-day,” he went on. “It’s a bit damp in this tent.”

“Yes, a wooden shack will be better,” agreed Jerry.

Most of the new arrivals were in the wooden buildings, but in the hurry
and confusion of the day before, some had to be assigned temporarily
to tents. New barracks were in the course of construction, however,
to accommodate the constantly growing number of volunteers. Later the
great camps would be filled with the men of the draft.

When Ned had finished his hasty dressing, he strolled over to look at
the posted notice in the tent, which gave a list of the day’s duties
and the hours for drills. The bulletin was headed “Service Roll Calls.”

The first thing in the order of the day is reveille, but this is
preceded by what is known as “First call.” This is sounded at 5:45 in
the morning, rather an early hour, as almost any one but a milkman will
concede. But one gets used to it, as Bob said later.

“First call” is a series of stirring notes on the bugle which has for
its purpose the awakening of the buglers themselves, to get them out
of their snug beds to give the reveille proper. March and reveille
come ten minutes later, the buglers marching up and down the streets
in front of the tents and barracks, and “blowing their heads off,”
to quote Jerry Hopkins. This is calculated to awaken each and every
rookie, but if it fails the various squad leaders see to it that no one
is missed.

“Assembly,” is the call which comes at six o’clock, and then woe betide
the recruit who is not dressed and in line, standing at attention. As
can be seen, there is but five minutes allowed for dressing; that is,
if a man does not awaken until the reveille sounds. If he opens his
eyes at first call, and gets up then, he has fifteen minutes to primp,
though this is generally saved for dress parade. Roll call follows the
assembly.

On this morning, when it had been ascertained that all were “present
or accounted for,” Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their new comrades, were
dismissed to wash for breakfast. With soap and towels there was a
general rush for the wash room, and then followed a healthful splashing.

“It isn’t like our bathroom at home,” said Bob, as he polished his
face, “but I suppose the results are the same.”

“Sure,” agreed Ned. “They have showers here, and that’s more than they
have in some camps, yet, I hear.”

“We’ll need a shower after drill,” declared Jerry. “It’s going to be
hot and dry to-day.”

Breakfast was the next call, only it was not called that. It was down
on the schedule as “mess,” and so every meal was designated though, of
course, in their own minds, each recruit thought of the first meal as
breakfast, the second as dinner, and the third as supper. But to the
army cook each meal was a “mess.”

But before breakfast the boys had to make up their beds. They had been
given a lesson in that the previous day. Soon after their arrival the
recruits were divided into squads, and under the guidance of a squad
leader they were taken to a big pile of straw and told to fill the
heavy, white cotton bags that were to serve in the place of mattresses.
There was a hole in the middle of the bag, and through this the straw
was poked, and the whole made as smooth as possible on the bunks.

After their first night, Ned, Bob, and Jerry were transferred to
a wooden barracks. When they carried the straw mattresses to this
building, they found that each squad room contained about fifty bunks
arranged around the walls, with two rows down the middle. On each
bunk, besides the mattress, or “bedsack,” as it is officially called,
were a pillow and three blankets. These must be neatly arranged after
the night’s sleep. Beds in a military camp are not made up until just
before they are used, but during the day the blankets must be neatly
folded, laid on the bunks and the pillow placed on top of the blankets.

There were no clothes closets, and the only place Ned, Bob and Jerry
had to put their things was on a shelf back of each lad’s bunk, and
on some nails, driven into the wall near by. On these were all the
possessions they were allowed, and, as can be imagined, they were not
many--or would not be, once the boys were in uniform.

As yet, none of the new recruits wore a uniform. All were dressed just
as they had come from their homes, and there was the usual variety seen
at any baseball game.

“Mess call!” sang out Jerry, as he and his chums heard the notes of the
bugles again. This time the call seemed to the boys to be more cheerful.

“I hope they have something good for breakfast,” murmured Bob, and this
time his chums did not laugh at him. They were as hungry as he was.




CHAPTER XV

IN UNIFORM


“Um! Oh! Smell that!” cried Bob, as he hurried out in answer to the
first mess call of the day. “Bacon, or I’m a sinner!”

Breakfast call was sounded at 6:15 and half an hour was allowed for it.

As soon as the mess call had sounded each man, acting under the
directions of his squad leader, got his mess kit, consisting of plate,
cup, knife, fork and spoon. Later the boys needed no instructions in
producing these implements of “warfare.”

The signal being given, they marched to the kitchen where there was
dished out to each one what was to be the first meal of the day. This
proved to be steamed rice and milk, bacon, scrambled eggs, fried
potatoes, buttered toast, bread and coffee.

With this as a starter the boys marched into the mess hall and sat down
at long tables to eat.

“How goes it, Chunky?” asked Ned, as he noticed his stout chum
beginning to eat.

“Tell you better when I’ve had my second or third helping,” was the
somewhat mumbled reply.

“Talk it out, Chunky,” advised Jerry. “Don’t scramble your reply; leave
that to the eggs you’re sailing into.”

“Huh, I’ll sail clear through these, and then some.”

“Can you have as much as you like?” asked a rather timid lad next to
Ned.

“All you want, son, and more,” answered the squad leader, who was
walking about, and who had overheard the question.

As each one finished he took his mess kit down to the end of the hall,
where there was a kettle of scalding water, and washed his cutlery and
dishes. There are no official dishwashers in the army, save those who
serve in the officer’s mess.

“Well, do you feel better?” asked Ned, as he and Jerry filed out with
Bob.

“Lots,” was the answer. “What call’s that?” he inquired, as another
bugle note blared out.

“Sick call and fatigue,” answered Jerry, who was learning the army
orders and regulations.

This call came at 6:45 and gave opportunity for such as were physically
disabled in any way to escape drill for the day. If a man is not
feeling physically fit in the morning he so reports to his first
sergeant, who places the name on a list. Then, when the proper call
comes, and all who are in need of medical attention are collected, an
officer marches them to an infirmary.

Of course, this applies only to those slightly “under the weather.” In
case of a very ill recruit the doctor goes to him, instead of having
him go to the medical man. If a man is taken ill, or feels the need of
medical attention at any time other than the official sick call, an
officer is detailed to take him to the doctor, or the doctor comes to
him, at any hour it may be necessary.

Fortunately there were very few who responded to sick call the first
morning in Camp Dixton. When it was over, at 6:50 o’clock, came the
first call for the day’s drill. Five minutes later came the assembly,
which meant that every man, not excused, must be in line. Then the
drill began. It was to last an hour.

There were six drills during the day (or were at Camp Dixton), besides
guard-mount in the late afternoon. Between the drills came dinner, of
course. But the new soldiers were impressed with the drills. There were
so many of them, and when there was no drill there was a school of
instruction.

Drills, or the assembly calls for them, came at the following
hours: 8:15, 9:30, 10:45, 1:00, and 2:15. At 3:30 came a school of
instruction, which lasted an hour. There was guard-mount, too, which
is another sort of drill, at 5:00. This lasted half an hour, and
mess call for supper sounded shortly after 5:30, followed by retreat,
meaning that the main part of the day was over.

From supper time till the call to quarters, which sounded at 9 P.M.,
the recruit was allowed to do about as he pleased, though sometimes
there was instruction in the evening. The call to quarters was the
signal for all lights to be out in the squad room, though it was not
necessary for all the soldiers to be there at that hour. They were,
however, expected to be there at ten o’clock when taps were sounded,
this being a bugle call for all lights to be out, and every one in bed,
except the officers and sentries.

“Well, I don’t see where we’re going to have an awful lot of time to
scrabble around and have fun,” said Bob, in a half-growling tone, as
he looked over the printed list of the camp schedule. “We have from
four-thirty to five-forty-five with nothing to do, if we’re not in the
guard-mount stunt, and then we have time after supper. But that isn’t
much.”

“Say, what do you think you’re on--a vacation?” asked Jerry.

“Well, no, not exactly,” answered Bob slowly.

“Not exactly! I should say not! Most emphatically--not! You’re here,
and so we all are, to do our duty and beat the Germans, and if it takes
all day I’m willing!” went on Jerry.

As has been mentioned there are many kinds of drills in the army, but
the new recruits, such as Ned, Bob, and Jerry, found, according to
their squad leader, that the physical drill was the most important
one for them at first. Later on would come rifle drill, drill in
the trenches, bayonet practice, machine gun drill, rushes with hand
grenades and so on. There seemed to the boys to be no end to it.

The boys of course, began at the very bottom to learn about army work,
and one of the first things they were told was in regard to different
formations, or units. The squad is the smallest unit of the infantry,
to which branch of the service the three chums were attached. A squad
consists of eight men, seven privates and a leader, who is, generally,
a corporal. This squad is the foundation of the army, and the members
of it generally stay together, sleeping, eating and fighting in unison
with other squads.

After the squad comes the platoon, which is made up of from two to six
squads, and the men are in charge of a lieutenant with a couple of
non-commissioned officers to help him. Four platoons make a company,
and this is in charge of a captain, with two lieutenants to aid him.

The battalion of four companies comes next and a major commands a
battalion, while three battalions usually make up a regiment, which is
commanded by a colonel, with a number of staff officers to advise and
aid him. It takes two regiments of infantry to make a brigade, which
is in charge of a brigadier general. Next comes a division, which is
the largest group in the army, and is made up in various ways, from
infantry and artillery and machine gun battalions.

“I wonder what’s up?” said Ned, as he walked with his chums to the
designated place. None of them was in uniform, as yet. That would come
later.

“What do you mean--up?” asked Jerry.

“I mean it looks as though we were going to listen to a speech,” went
on Ned.

And this was just what was going to happen. The captain of the company
to which they were temporarily assigned, had gathered the recruits
about him.

“I want to tell you a few things before we begin the physical drill,”
he said, “so you will appreciate the importance of it. If I did not,
you might think that some of it was of little use. But I want to say
that it all has a value that has been tried and proved.

“You know the army that is to help whip Germany is just like a big
machine. You are all parts in that machine, and every part, no matter
how small, must work in perfect unison with every other part, or there
will be failure. To begin with, you must be physically fit to stand
much hard work, and this drill is to get you in good condition.

“Some of the motions you are made to go through may seem foolish to
you, but they are all for some good purpose. You have muscles which,
ordinarily, you seldom use. It is to bring out these muscles, and make
them fit for service, that certain motions and practice are necessary.
You’ll be surprised on finding what a little exercise will do for
certain weak and flabby muscles that you have. They will be waked up
and made to do their duty.”

And the boys found, before the day was over, that their captain spoke
the truth, and with a knowledge that could not be questioned.

“Oh, look who’s here,” said Bob to Ned in a low voice, as they had a
little respite from twisting and turning and stooping and rising.

“Who?” asked Ned.

“That Pug Kennedy we had the row with in the train. They’re going to
put him in our squad, I’m afraid.”

“That’s bad,” said Jerry. “But still it won’t do to kick. This is only
temporary, and he may be changed, or we may. Don’t give up the ship
now.”

Pug Kennedy was, indeed, put in the squad with the three Cresville
friends, and his unpleasant face grinned at them as the drill went on.

Pug Kennedy lived up to his reputation. He was a “scrapper,” and he
did little but growl at every new order. He did not see any reason for
this, nor sense in that, and only the fact that he did his growling in
a low voice saved him from being disciplined. The officers did not hear
him.

It was three or four days after the arrival of Ned, Bob, and Jerry at
Camp Dixton that Bob came hurrying up to his chums with a pleased look
on his face.

“What is it, Chunky?” asked Ned. “Have you managed to squeeze another
mess call into the day’s program?”

“No. But we’re going to get into uniforms to-day. I just heard our
captain say so,” answered the stout lad. “Now we’ll look like real
soldiers!”

Bob was right. A few minutes later came the call for the recruits to
line up and proceed to the quartermaster’s department to be measured
for uniforms.

“Now this is something like!” exclaimed Bob.




CHAPTER XVI

HOT WORDS


“What’ll we do with our old suits?” asked Ned, as, with his chums, he
walked toward the clothing department, a store in itself.

“They go into the discard,” answered Bob, who, it seems, had been
making inquiries. “I suppose we can send ’em home and have ’em kept for
us until after the war.”

“That’s what I’m going to do,” declared Ned. “This is a good suit,
though it looks a bit mussy now. I’m not going to throw it away.”

“You might as well,” put in Jerry.

“Why so? This war may not last as long as we think,” Ned made comment.
“And suits, and everything else, will be a lot higher after it’s over.
Might as well save what I can. Don’t see why it won’t do me any good.”

“Because it won’t fit you,” Jerry returned. “Don’t you know what our
captain told us? He said the new uniforms we get will hang on some
of us like bags for a while, but when we fill out our muscles by the
exercise and drill, we’ll fill out the uniforms, too.

“Now your tailor, Ned, and I will say he is a good one, made your
civilian suit to fit you. In other words he favored you. He padded the
hollow places and so on. But in a couple of months you’ll fill out so
that the suit you’re wearing now will look like a set of hand-me-downs
from the Bowery in New York.”

“Well, I’ll send it home, anyhow,” decided Ned.

“Yes, it may come in handy for your mother’s charity work,” agreed
Jerry.

Before going to the tailor shop, Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with others of
the recruits, were measured. These measurements were standardized, so
that when each young man went in to get his uniform, the officer in
charge merely called off a certain number to designate coat, trousers,
hat and so on.

The first outfit issued to the boys consisted of one coat, a pair
of trousers, a hat, with cord, three pairs of drawers, two pairs of
laces, a pair of leggings, a set of ornaments, an overcoat, two flannel
shirts, two pairs of shoes, six pairs of socks, a belt, a pair of
gloves and three undershirts. The value of each article was set down
and varied from a hat cord, marked as worth six and a half cents, to
an overcoat, which cost the government $14.50, making a total of about
$45 for each young soldier. For this, of course, Ned, Bob, and Jerry
paid nothing. A private gets his uniform and food for nothing, but an
officer has to buy his.

“Return to barracks and get into your uniforms for inspection,” was the
order the boys received, and they were glad to do it. There were some,
like Ned, who sent their civilian clothes home to be used as parents
saw fit, and there was a general opinion, coinciding with Jerry’s, that
they would be of little use to the owners themselves after their army
service, for the young men would, indeed, be of different physical
appearance and size.

“Well, how do I look?” asked Ned, as he and his two chums finished
dressing in the barracks.

“It fits you sort of quick,” answered Jerry.

The new uniform was, in truth, a trifle loose.

“Yours fits the same way,” laughed Ned. “I guess I’ll do a double stunt
of exercise to fill out quicker.”

“Bob looks good in his,” commented the tall motor boy. “It’s because
he’s so fat. When he loses some of his flesh he’ll look as though he
was wearing a meal sack.”

“Watch your own step,” said Bob, with a laugh. “I’m satisfied.”

There were jokes and jests among the recruits about the appearance of
one another, and when Pug Kennedy walked out on the way to drill, to
which the squad was summoned, Jerry called to him:

“You’ve got your hat cord on backwards, old man.”

It was not that Jerry felt any particular liking for Michael Kennedy,
to give him his real name, but the tall lad did not want any member
of his squad to look unmilitary, nor did he want a reprimand to be
directed toward Pug, as it might reflect on his companions. But Pug
Kennedy was still in an ungracious mood, it seemed, for he answered
Jerry’s well-meant remark with:

“Mind your own business! It’s my hat cord.”

“True enough,” agreed Jerry, good-naturedly; “but it may not be long,
if you wear it that way.”

“Um!” grunted Pug, as he went out. But Ned took notice that, as soon as
he was out of sight around the corner of the barracks, the bully put
the cord on differently. It was a light blue cord, and indicated to
those who knew the regulations, that the man under the hat belonged to
the infantry, or foot-soldier, branch of the army.

The cavalry wear yellow cords on their hats; and the artillery, red.
The engineers have a red and white mixed cord; the signal corps, orange
and white; the medical corps, maroon; and the quartermaster corps, buff.

In addition there are certain ornaments on the collars of the coats to
distinguish the different branches of the service. The infantry wear
crossed rifles, the cavalry crossed sabers, the field artillery crossed
cannon, the engineers a castle, like the castle in a set of chessmen,
the signal corps crossed flags with a torch between, the quartermaster
corps wheel with a pen and sword crossed and an eagle surmounting,
while the members of the medical corps wear something that looks like
an upright bar with wings at the top and two snakes twining around it.
This is a caduceus, and is a form of the staff usually associated with
the god Mercury. The word comes from the Doric and means to proclaim,
literally a herald.

“He took your advice, Jerry,” announced Ned, when he saw what Pug
Kennedy had done.

“Glad he did. He might have been a little more polite about it, though.
I wish he was in some other squad, but I suppose there’s no use trying
to graft him somewhere else. We’ll just have to make the best of him.”

“Or the worst,” added Bob.

In their new uniforms the recruits went through the drill, and it could
not be denied that now there was a little more snap to it. It was more
inspiring to see men all dressed alike doing something in unison than
to watch the same company going through motions, one in a brown suit,
another in a green and a third in a blue.

The drill was hard, and it never seemed to end. When one stopped,
there was only a brief rest period, and then came another. But it was
necessary, and the boys were beginning to feel that.

“I wonder what the folks at home would think if they could see us now?”
asked Ned, as their respite came.

“Well, I guess they wouldn’t be ashamed of us,” replied Jerry.

“I should say not!” declared Bob, smoothing out some imaginary
wrinkles. “I think we look all to the mustard!”

“Or cheese!” chuckled Ned. “Come on--there goes mess call,” he added,
for it was noon, and time for dinner.

As it was Friday there was chowder as the main dish. There were fried
fish, candied sweet potatoes, green peas, fruit pudding, mustard
pickles, bread and coffee. It was a plentiful meal, and several made a
trip to the kitchen for a second helping.

Bob was one of these, and it was when he was walking back to his
place at the long table that something happened which nearly caused
considerable trouble.

Bob was carrying his filled plate in one hand, and his cup of coffee
in the other, when, as he passed the bench where Pug Kennedy was
sitting, some one bumped into the stout lad, jostling his arm, and the
coffee--or part of it--went down Pug’s back.

Up the bully sprang with a howl, though the coffee was not hot enough
to burn him.

“Who did that?” he demanded, wrathfully.

There was no need to answer. The attitude of Bob, standing directly
back of Pug, with the half-emptied cup in his hand and the queer look
on his face, told more plainly than words that he was the guilty one.

“Oh, so it’s you again, is it, you sneak!” and Pug fairly snarled the
words.

“What do you mean?” demanded Bob, justly angry.

“I mean that you’re trying to make trouble for me again--like the time
when you accused me of stealing your crullers. You’re trying to spoil
my uniform so I’ll get a call-down. I’ll fix you for this!”

“It was an accident,” insisted Bob. “Some one ran against me, and----”

“Accident my eye!” sneered Pug. “I’ll accident you! I’ll punch you good
and proper, that’s what I’ll do!” he yelled, and he leaped back over
the bench-seat and advanced toward Bob who stepped back.

A fight was imminent.




CHAPTER XVII

A MIDNIGHT MEETING


“Put down your things and put up your hands!” Pug Kennedy fairly issued
the order to Bob as an officer might have done.

“Why should I?” asked the stout youth. “I haven’t finished my dinner.”

“Well, you’re not going to until I finish you. Come on! Put up your
hands! I’m a scrapper, but I won’t hit any one with his hands full. Put
’em up, I say, or I’ll smash you in a minute!”

“Don’t you hit him!” called Ned, hastily arising from the opposite side
of the table.

“Mind your own business!” ordered Pug.

“Take some one your size!” came a voice from the end of the hall.

“I’ll take you if you want me to!” snapped Pug.

He took a step nearer Bob, and the latter, in very self-defense, was
about to set down his plate and cup, when Captain Trainer, who had a
habit of unexpectedly dropping into the mess hall, entered the big
room. He took in, at a glance, what was about to happen.

“Stop!” he cried in commanding tones. “What does this mean?”

“He spilled a lot of hot coffee down my back!” growled Pug, but he had
lost some of his belligerency since the advent of his captain.

“I didn’t mean to,” explained Bob. “It was an accident, some one
jostled me.”

“Very well,” said Captain Trainer. “That is equivalent to an apology,
Kennedy, and I direct you to accept it as such.”

“I’m sure I’m sorry,” said Bob. “I really didn’t mean to.”

“All right,” half growled Pug. “If you do it again, though, I’ll punch
you worse than I did before!” and he glared at Bob.

The captain, seeing that he had averted hostilities for the time being,
thought it best to withdraw. Enlisted men, especially at meals, like to
be free from restraint, and an officer, no matter how much he is liked
by his command, is a sort of damper at times.

Pug squirmed and twisted, trying to wipe some of the coffee stains from
the back of his coat and Bob went on to his place to finish his meal.

“There’ll be trouble with that fellow before we are through with him,”
said Jerry to his chums in a low voice, as they went out of the mess
hall, for a little rest before drill was resumed.

“He’s made trouble enough already,” said Bob. “Though of course it is
rather raw to have coffee spilled down your back. But I couldn’t help
it.”

“Of course not,” agreed Jerry. “But what I meant was that we’ll have
personal trouble with him. He seems always spoiling for a fight, and
more so when we are concerned than any one else. Maybe he doesn’t like
being in the same squad with us.”

“He can’t dislike it any more than we do,” suggested Ned. “Just wait
until I get made a corporal and have charge! Then I’ll make him step
around.”

“Oh, are you going to get promoted to a corporal?” asked Jerry. “I
didn’t know that was on the bill,” and he winked at Bob.

“Sure I’m going to be promoted,” went on Ned. “Aren’t you working for
that?”

And Jerry and Bob had to admit that they were, though it was rather
early in the game to expect anything.

The first step upward from private, the lowest army rank, is to be
made a corporal, and, after that one becomes a sergeant. A corporal
wears two V-shaped stripes, on his sleeves. The V in each case is
inverted. A sergeant has three such stripes. There are various sorts
of sergeants--duty or line sergeants, staff and major sergeants, mess
sergeants, supply sergeants and so on. The first sergeant is often
called “Top,” and sometimes considers himself almost a commissioned
officer.

Sergeants and corporals are non-commissioned officers, and there is a
great difference in rank between a commissioned and a non-commissioned
man.

A commissioned officer can resign, and quit when he wants to, but an
enlisted man, or a non-commissioned officer can not. Commissioned
officers are appointed by the President, and the commission carries a
certain rank, beginning with second lieutenant. Each step upward means
a new commission. The sergeants and corporals are appointed, nominally,
by the colonel of their regiment, by warrant.

“Well, then Pug had better look out for himself, if you’re going to
have it in for him when you’re made corporal,” went on Jerry. “But say,
it must be fun to be an officer--even a non-commissioned one.”

“It is,” agreed Ned. “You get out of a lot of work that isn’t any fun,
such as being the kitchen police, doing fatigue work like cleaning up
the barracks and grounds, digging drains and the like, and when you’re
on guard you don’t have to keep on the go--all you have to do is to
keep watch over the other sentries.”

“Fine and dandy!” exclaimed Bob.

“Me for it!” added Jerry.

“But that isn’t getting us anywhere just now,” said Ned. “I’m detailed
for kitchen police this very day.”

“So’m I,” admitted Bob, and, as it happened, Jerry was, too.

When one is detailed to the kitchen police it does not mean that the
young soldier has to arrest those who eat too much, or too little.

In an army camp the cooking is done, in most instances, by soldiers
detailed for it, though in some cases professional cooks may be used,
such having enlisted or been drafted. Each day certain members of the
company are named to help the cooks, of which there are usually three.
The helpers are known as the “kitchen police,” and they do all sorts
of work, peeling potatoes, washing the pots and pans, scrubbing the
floors, waiting on table, bringing in coal and wood.

This kitchen policing goes by turn, so no one man gets too much of it,
or has to do it too steadily. It was the first time Ned, Bob and Jerry
had been assigned to this duty, and they went at it without grumbling,
which is what every good soldier does. Their many camping experiences
stood them in good stead in this, and the efficient manner in which
they went about their tasks in cleaning up the pots and pans drew a
compliment from the professional cook.

“We’ll know our soup comes out of a clean pot the next time we eat,”
said Bob, as he gave the copper a final polish.

“And by the looks of things we’re going to have a good feed to-morrow,”
added Ned.

“We always do on Sunday,” said Jerry.

On Sundays in camp, reveille, mess and sick calls are one hour later
than on week days, giving more opportunity for slumber, and on
Saturdays the first call for drill is not until 7:35 instead of 6:50,
which is also a little relief.

“Yes, there’ll be a good dinner to-morrow,” resumed Bob, as he passed
the ice chest, having occasion to open it. “Plenty of chicken and the
fixings.”

The Sunday dinner in camp, in fact, is usually the long-looked-for meal
of the week, and the supper, likewise, is more elaborate than usual.
The feeding of the boys of the army is a science, and it is worked out
to what might be called mathematical exactness.

For instance, at Camp Dixton each enlisted man received, or was each
day credited with, what is called the “garrison ration.” This consisted
of a certain amount of fresh beef, flour, baking powder, bran,
potatoes, prunes, coffee, sugar, evaporated milk, condiments, butter,
lard, syrup and flavoring extract.

Of course each man did not actually receive these things, for, if he
had, he would have had trouble in getting them cooked, or in shape
to eat. But that was his allowance and he was entitled to it or its
equivalent, each article mentioned being issued in certain specific
measure or weight.

The soldiers were allowed to trade what they did not want for things
they did. They could swap beef for mutton, bacon for hash and so on.
They could have rice for beans, or dried apples for prunes, there being
substitutes for almost every ration issued.

“And a nice thing about it, too,” said Jerry, when he and his chums
were discussing it, “is that you don’t have to eat it all.”

“Don’t tell Bob that, it’ll scare him,” suggested Ned.

“Well, I mean you can save some,” Jerry explained, “and turn it into
cash.”

“Do we spend the cash?” asked Bob.

“It isn’t usual. It’s turned back into the company fund, and used to
buy extras for special dinners--ice cream and the like.”

While the ration spoken of is supposed to be issued to each soldier, in
reality it is not. He has to take the meal the cook prepares each day,
and this is supervised by the mess sergeant. This official is given
the task of looking after the kitchen. He is supposed to save a little
here and there, where he can, and convert mutton into ham and eggs on
occasions, and save enough on the prunes to have them turn into lemon
pie once in a while.

All this Ned, Bob, and Jerry learned as they went along. They finished
their kitchen police work, and were relieved from duty, taking the
occasion to go to the Y. M. C. A. headquarters to write some letters.

“I wonder how things are in Cresville,” observed Bob, as he carefully
sealed one envelope, and took care that his chums did not see the
address.

“I had a paper from there the other day,” said Jerry. “The old town
seemed to be getting along in spite of our absence.”

“No more fires?” asked Ned.

“No; didn’t read of any.”

“Crooked Nose wasn’t arrested for stealing the old Frenchman’s money,
or my father’s watch, or Mrs. Hopkins’ brooch, was he?” inquired Bob.

“No. But the article said that the old man insisted that he did lose a
big sum on the occasion of the blaze. He tells the same story he told
us, but I guess few believe he had much money.”

“All the same it was a mean trick, if some one robbed the old man, and
I’d like to catch Crooked Nose, if there is such a person,” declared
Ned with energy.

“I’m with you!” added Bob. “Say,” he went on, “have any of you written
to Professor Snodgrass?”

“No, and we ought to,” said Jerry. “We ought to invite him down to
camp. I heard he was given a leave of absence, and there are some queer
bugs down here in camp that he might like to look over.”

“I’ll drop him a line,” promised Jerry.

That night the three motor boys went on guard together for a two-hour
period just before midnight. Their posts adjoined, and as they marched
back and forth they could speak now and again.

It was shortly before twelve o’clock, when the camp was wrapped in
darkness and very still, that, as Jerry passed a certain spot where
there was a small hollow among some trees, he saw, dimly outlined
against the sky, a figure crawling along in a stooping position.

Jerry was about to challenge, for those were his orders, when he saw a
second figure crawl along, from the direction of a public road outside
the camp, and join the first.

“That’s queer,” mused Jerry, as he observed the midnight meeting. “I’ll
have to look into this.”




CHAPTER XVIII

A STAB IN THE BACK


Jerry Hopkins was of two minds. He knew his orders as sentry required
him to challenge any one trying to pass in or out of camp after hours
without a pass. And it did not seem likely that these persons, whoever
they were, would act so suspiciously if they had passes. In fact, one
came from the direction of the barracks, and the other from the town,
which lay about three miles from camp.

On the other hand, Jerry knew that often some of the boys stayed in
town beyond the legal hour, and tried to run past the guard without
getting caught, for in the latter event it meant punishment for being
out after taps.

The soldier boys were but human, and, naturally, they did not want to
see their fellow soldiers get into trouble. So it was sometimes the
custom not to look too closely when some of the late-stayers tried to
run guard.

“If that’s all it is, I guess I can find something to do at the other
end of my post,” thought Jerry, for he felt that, some day, he might
want a similar favor.

But as he was debating with himself he heard Ned approaching, and he
waited.

“Everything all right?” asked Ned in a low voice.

“Well, not exactly,” was the answer. “Did you see anything suspicious?”

“Suspicious? No.”

“Take a look down in that hollow,” suggested Jerry. As he pointed to
indicate the place to Ned, they both saw two figures in a crouching
attitude on the ground. They were two men, one in the unmistakable
uniform of a soldier, and the other a civilian. And they appeared to be
in close conversation.

“What’s that?” asked Ned in a low voice.

“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” returned Jerry. “I was just
wondering whether to challenge or not.”

“Maybe we can find out who they are first,” suggested Ned. “If it’s
just a couple of boys out late.”

“That’s what I was going to do,” said Jerry.

“But one seems to be a civilian, and he hasn’t any right around camp at
this hour.”

“I’m going over and take a look.” Jerry spoke now with decision.

“I’ll go with you,” offered Ned. “It’s about midway of both our posts.”

Jerry and Ned wanted to do their duty, as they had been instructed by
their officers, but, at the same time, if by a little avoidance of a
strict rendering of the rules they could help out an indiscreet fellow
soldier, they were tempted to do that. It all depended on what was
taking place over there in the dark hollow.

Of course there had been talk of enemy spies and of German activities,
and a great deal of it had a basis in fact, or easily could have. And
it was true that a German spy could do a great deal of damage around
Camp Dixton if he tried. There were great store-houses that could be
set on fire, there were barracks and stables that could be burned, and
more than one fire that did occur during the early days may be set down
as having been the work of an enemy alien. If such were the men meeting
at midnight in the hollow, just off the posts of Jerry and Ned, they
wanted to know it. Even if one did wear Uncle Sam’s uniform, that was
no reason for believing him true. There are traitors in all walks of
life.

“What do you make ’em out to be?” asked Ned in a whisper of his tall
chum.

“I’m not sure. One seems to be a soldier, but the other isn’t. And the
soldier, if he is that, came from the direction of our place.”

“Going to yell for the corporal of the guard?”

“Not yet a while. Let’s see who they are.”

The thick grass muffling their footsteps, Ned and Jerry drew near to
the place where they had last seen the figures. They were not in sight
now, being crouched down in the dark shadows. But as the boys paused to
listen, they heard the murmur of voices, and some one said:

“It’s a little soon to start anything yet. Wait about a week and the
place will be full. Then the damage will be all the greater.”

“All right; just as you say,” came the response. “Only my friends are
getting impatient to have me do something.”

“Oh, you’ll do it all right!” said the first speaker. “And now you’d
better hop along. The sentries may be over this way any minute. I’ve
got to sneak back. See you again in the usual way.”

Then came a silence, and Ned and Jerry looked at one another in the
darkness. They could just make out each other’s outlines.

“Did you hear that?” whispered Ned.

“Sure I did. It was----”

“Pug Kennedy!” filled in Ned.

“And if the other didn’t speak with a German accent I’ll never draw
another ration.”

“Just what I think. But what does it mean? Why should Pug Kennedy be
out after hours, running the guard and meeting with men who may be
enemy aliens?”

“Can’t answer,” replied Jerry. “But it’s up to us to find out. But
let’s go easy. We don’t want to make fools of ourselves, and start a
false alarm. Wait until we see what happens.”

They did not have long to wait. A few seconds later they heard a
shuffle in the grass, and a dim figure came toward them. It was that of
a soldier, as Ned and Jerry could see. Of the second person there was
not a sign. But he might still be in the dark hollow, or he may have
crawled off. At any rate it was Jerry’s duty to challenge, and he did
it.

“Halt!” he cried, bringing his rifle to “port,” as the regulations
called for. “Who goes there?”

“Friend,” was the answer, though the tone of the reply was anything but
friendly. “That you, Hopkins?” came the inquiry.

“Yes. Who are you?” Jerry asked, though he knew full well.

“I’m Kennedy. I’ve been out on a bit of a lark. Can’t you look the
other way a second until I slip past?”

It was not an unusual request, and it was one that was often complied
with. Yet Jerry hesitated a moment. Kennedy might be telling the truth,
and the midnight meeting might be innocent enough. But it looked
suspicious. And Jerry had reason to think that the fighter had come
from the barracks only recently--not that he was just returning to them.

“Go on. Look the other way and I’ll slip past--that’s a sport!” begged
Pug Kennedy, and his voice was more friendly now. “I’ll do as much for
you some day.”

It was an appeal hard to resist, and Jerry was on the point of
complying, while Ned was willing to agree to it, when some one was
heard walking along from a point in back of the three young men.

“It’s the corporal!” hissed Kennedy. “Keep your mouths shut and I’ll do
the rest.”

He suddenly seemed to melt away in the darkness, but he probably
dropped down in the long grass. The approaching footsteps came nearer
and a voice called:

“Hopkins! Slade! Are you there?”

“Here, sir,” was the answer, and Jerry and Ned saw the corporal of the
guard standing near them.

“Anything the matter?” he asked.

“Well, I thought I saw some one over here,” answered Jerry, “and I came
to look. But I don’t see anything now.”

There was a very good reason for this. Jerry had his eyes tightly shut!

“False alarm, was it?” asked the corporal with a laugh. “Well, that
often happens. But it’s best to be on the alert. There are some of the
boys out, and we want to catch them as examples. If you see anything
more give a call.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jerry and Ned turned away to go back on post when something happened.
It was a yell of pain, and came from a point not far from where the
corporal had been talking to the two sentries.

“What’s that?” exclaimed Ned.

“Some one hurt,” answered Jerry. “I wonder----”

He did not have time to complete his surmise, for the corporal called:

“Guard! Over this way! I’ve caught him!”

There was a sound of a struggle, and then a light flashed. Ned and
Jerry, hurrying over, saw the corporal holding Pug Kennedy, and
flashing a pocket electric light into the bully’s face.

[Illustration: NED AND JERRY, HURRYING OVER SAW THE CORPORAL HOLDING
PUG KENNEDY.]

“You were right--there was some one here,” said the corporal. “I
stepped on his hand in the dark and he yelled. Otherwise I might not
have seen him. Sorry, Kennedy, but it’s your own fault,” went on the
non-commissioned officer. “Take him to the guardhouse,” he ordered Ned
and Jerry, and there was no choice for them but to obey.

“I’ll get even with you for this!” growled Pug Kennedy, as he marched
along. “I’ll fix you!”

“We didn’t do anything,” said Jerry in a low voice. “We were going to
keep still.”

“Yes you were! You gave me away--that’s what you did. You called the
corporal and peached on me! I’ll fix you for this!”

It was useless to protest, and Jerry and Ned did not. Kennedy,
muttering and growling, was turned over to the keeper of the
guardhouse, and locked up for the rest of the night. He would be given
a hearing in the morning.

“How much shall we tell?” asked Ned of Jerry, when they were relieved,
and, with Bob, went to turn in.

“Better not say anything until we’re asked,” was Jerry’s opinion. “Let
the corporal do the talking. After all he found him, we didn’t.”

“But about the meeting in the dark, and the talk we heard?”

“Well, if I was sure what it meant I’d speak of it. But we may only get
laughed at for imagining things if we speak of it. And we haven’t much
to go on. Let the corporal do the talking.”

This they did, with the result that Pug Kennedy was punished for being
out after taps and trying to run the guard, no very serious offense,
but one which carried with it an extra round of police work--cleaning
up around camp--and Pug was more or less the laughing butt of his
comrades.

“It’s all your fault!” he declared to Ned and Jerry. “You wait! I’ll
get square with you!”

But as several days passed, and the “scrapper,” as he was called, made
no effort to carry out his threat, Ned and Jerry rather forgot about
it. As for the midnight meeting, it seemed to have been nothing more
than an attempt on the part of Pug Kennedy to be friendly with some
civilian he had met in town.

“Though what they were talking about I can’t guess,” said Jerry.

“Same here,” agreed Ned.

The days in camp were spent in drill. It was drill, drill, drill from
morning until night.

Most of the drills were for the purpose of getting the new soldiers in
good physical shape, fit to stand the hard work that would come later.
To the three motor boys it was much the same sort of thing they had
gone through when training for football. There were the preliminary
steps, the slow movements, followed by speeding-up practice and then
hard driving.

In the course of a few weeks they learned how to march in unison, how
to go through certain parts of the rifle drill without making it look
too ragged, and finally, one day, orders were issued for bayonet drill.

“This is beginning to look like real war, now,” said Ned in delight, as
he and his chums got their guns and bayonets ready for the work.

“What is it to be, trench or with the bags?” asked Bob.

“Bags,” answered Jerry, who had been reading the orders. “The trench
work comes later.”

There are several kinds of bayonet drill and exercise, and among them
are trench and bag work. In the former, which is only used after the
youths have become somewhat familiar with the weapon, there are two
lines of soldiers. One is down in a trench, and they are “attacked”
by another line standing above them, the theory being that the party
outside the trench is the attacking one.

Bag bayonet work is something on the same scale as tackling the
dummy in football practice. On a wooden framework a number of canvas
bags, filled with sawdust, shavings, hay or other soft material, are
suspended. On each bag, which swings freely by two ropes, are painted
two white dots. These, in a measure, correspond to the scarlet heart on
the buffer of a fencer.

Standing in a row before the swinging bags, with leveled bayonets, the
young soldiers endeavor to stab through the object as near the white
spots as possible. This is to train their eyes.

Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their comrades, were marched to the practice
ground, and then, after some preliminary instruction and illustrative
work by men proficient in the drill, the lads were allowed to do it
themselves.

“It looks easy, but it’s hard,” declared Bob, when he had made several
wild lunges, to the no small danger of the man next him.

“Take it easy, Chunky,” advised Jerry. “You’ve got more than a week to
stay here. Go slow.”

Pug Kennedy, who was stationed next to Ned, had done better than any of
the others. Perhaps his proficiency with his fists stood him in good
stead. However that may have been, he won commendation from the officer
in charge.

“Now for a general attack!” came the orders, after a while. “I want to
see how you’d act if you were told to go over the top and smash a crowd
of Germans! Lively now!”

The boys went at it with a will, one or two fairly ripping the bags
from their fastenings.

Suddenly there was a cry of pain, and Jerry saw Ned stagger in the
line, and drop his rifle. Then Ned fell, and on the back of his olive
shirt there appeared a crimson stain. Ned had been stabbed by a
bayonet.




CHAPTER XIX

A CAVE-IN


Momentary confusion followed Ned’s cry and his fall, and those nearest
him, when they saw the blood, felt a good deal of alarm. But efficient
officers were in charge of the drilling squads, and a few sharp orders
sufficed to bring the men back in line, while an examination was made
of the injured lad.

He was bleeding freely, but when his shirt was taken off it was seen
that a bayonet had struck him a glancing blow, cutting a long, but not
deep, gash in the fleshy part of his back.

“How did this happen? Did any one see it?” asked the officer in charge
of the instruction.

“It was----” began a lad who had been standing next to Ned.

“I did it!” growled out the unpleasant voice of Pug Kennedy. “But I
didn’t mean to.”

“I should hope not,” commented the officer, rather sharply. “But how
did it happen?”

“He leaned over and got right in my way just as I was making a lunge,”
explained the fighter. “I tried to hold back my gun but it was too
late.”

The officer looked sharply at Kennedy, but there seemed to be no good
reason why his word should be doubted.

“Very well,” said Captain Reel, who was giving the bayonet instruction.
“Only be more careful after this. Save such strokes for the Germans. We
can’t afford to lose any of our soldiers. This will be all for to-day.”

Ned had been carried to the infirmary, and thither, having received
permission to do so, went Bob and Jerry. They were met by an orderly
who, on hearing their inquiries, told them that Ned’s wound was not at
all serious, and that he would be kept in his bed only long enough to
make sure there would be no infection from the steel and to enable the
wound to heal slightly.

Later in the day they were allowed to see their chum. Ned was on a cot
in the infirmary, and he smiled at Jerry and Bob.

“Oh, I’m not out of the game for long,” he said, in answer to their
inquiries. “I’ll be a bit stiff for a day or so, the doc says, but
it’ll soon wear off.”

“How did it happen?” asked Jerry. “Did you really get in his way as he
says you did?”

“I didn’t know it if I did,” answered Ned. “I was just making a lunge
myself, and I’d been doing it right along, so I knew my distance.”

“He did it on purpose,” insisted Bob. “I was talking to the fellow who
was on the other side of Pug Kennedy, and he says there was plenty of
room. He did it on purpose to get even with you, Ned, for the way he
was caught the other night, when he tried to run the guard.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” objected Jerry. “Pug Kennedy
is a scrapper, and he doesn’t like us. But I don’t believe he’d
deliberately try to bayonet a chap.”

“Well, I don’t know what to believe,” returned Ned. “I thought I had
plenty of room on each side of me, but my foot may have slipped. Or
maybe Pug’s may have done the same thing.”

“He made it slip!” declared Bob. “He wanted to get square with you and
he took that way.”

“If he did it’s a pretty serious way,” said Jerry, “and he ought to
be dismissed from the service. But it’s going to be as hard to prove
that as it would be to prove that he had some plot on foot when he met
that man at midnight. I don’t believe we can do anything unless we get
better proof.”

“Oh, drop it all!” exclaimed Ned. “It’s only a scratch, anyhow, and it
won’t kill me. There’s just as much chance that it was an accident as
that he did it on purpose. I’m not going to make any accusation against
him.”

“No, I don’t believe it would be wise,” agreed Jerry. “But, at the
same time, we’ll keep watch on him. He may try something like it again.”

Ned’s prediction as to the lightness of his injury proved correct. In
two days he was out of the infirmary, and though he was not allowed to
go in for violent drill for a week afterward, he said he felt capable
of it.

Pug Kennedy made a sort of awkward apology for his share in the
accident.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” he said to Ned. “But either you leaned
over too far toward me, or else I slipped. You may think I did it on
purpose, on account of you giving me away to the corporal that night,
but I didn’t.”

“I had nothing to do with your getting caught when you went out from
barracks that night,” said Ned. “It was your own fault. As for getting
square--you’re welcome to try.”

“Who says I was going out of barracks?” asked Pug vindictively.

“Weren’t you?” Ned asked.

“No. Course not. I was coming in, and I sort of got lost in the dark.
I didn’t know my way and I asked a fellow I met. He was one of the
teamsters, I guess. I was talking to him, when I was caught--I mean you
saw me and then the corporal came.”

“We didn’t send for him,” declared Jerry “He just happened to come at
that moment.”

“Well, it looked as if you’d sent for him,” growled Pug. “I’d be glad
to think you didn’t. And I’m sorry you’re hurt,” he added to Ned.

“Oh, I’m not hurt much,” was the easy answer. “Next time I’ll give you
plenty of room when there’s bayonet drill.”

Whether Pug liked this or not, he did not say. But he went away
muttering to himself.

Ned was soon back with his chums again, drilling away, and dreaming of
the time when he and they could go to France to fight the Huns. But
much preliminary work was necessary. It was, as has been said, drill,
drill, drill from morning until night.

Meanwhile the boys were beginning to appreciate what the army life was
doing for them. They were becoming better physically, every day; as
hard as nails and as brown as berries.

They wrote enthusiastic letters home, and received letters in reply,
giving the news of Cresville. Matters there were about the same.
There had been no more “peace” meetings, though it was said that
Mr. Schaeffer and his fellow pro-Germans were contemplating another
big meeting as a protest against the draft, which had been put into
operation.

The place where the fire had been was still a heap of ruins, Mrs.
Hopkins wrote Jerry, and it had not been cleared because of a dispute
over the insurance money. Mr. Cardon, the Frenchman, had recovered
from his experience, though he still talked about the loss of his
money, which, he insisted, a man with a crooked nose had stolen.

    “I think his story is true,” wrote Mrs. Hopkins. “But nobody
    has seen the man with the crooked nose, and there is positively
    no trace of Mr. Baker’s watch nor of my diamond brooch. Mr.
    Martley’s creditors have found his affairs in such a mess that
    there will be next to nothing coming to them--so if the watch
    and brooch are not recovered we will have to stand the loss
    ourselves.”

“Isn’t that the limit!” cried Jerry, as he read this portion of the
letter to his chums.

“It sure is,” remarked Ned.

“I’ll bet my dad feels sore,” put in Bob.

Professor Snodgrass wrote to the boys, telling them he hoped soon to
pay them a visit. He was finishing cataloging the bugs he had caught on
his last trip to Cresville, he stated, and would soon be on the lookout
for more.

It was two weeks after Ned’s injury by a bayonet in the hands of Pug
Kennedy, and he was fully himself again, that, one afternoon as he and
his chums were getting ready for hand grenade drill, a cry came from
a section of the camp near the artillery unit. There was a series of
shouts following a salvo of heavy guns.

“There’s been an accident!” exclaimed Jerry, as he saw a number of
officers and men running.

“Cannon exploded, maybe,” said Bob.

“It didn’t sound so,” remarked Ned. “The noise wasn’t any louder than
usual. But it’s something,” he added. “There go the ambulances!”

As he spoke a number of the vehicles dashed across the parade ground
toward the place that seemed to be the center of excitement.

“Come on!” cried Ned. “We’ve got to see what this is!”

The motor boys started to run, followed by several of their new chums,
and on all sides there were questions.

“What is it? What happened?”

A sentry, who did not leave his post, gave the first information.

“A line of trenches caved in!” he said. “A lot of the men are buried
alive!”




CHAPTER XX

A PRACTICE MARCH


Had such an accident as had occurred at Camp Dixton taken place in the
midst of a big city street, there would have been so much excitement
and conflict that the result would have been magnified in seriousness.

As it was there was enough seriousness to it, but it was minimized by
the fact that the accident happened in the midst of a military camp,
and among men who are used to meeting resolutely every sort of accident
and emergency.

Short and sharp were the orders issued. Those who could not be of help
were halted before they reached the place, and were held in readiness
for any work that would be needed.

The three friends, being among the first to reach the scene, were put
in one of the rescue squads. It did not take long to understand what
had happened. Trenches had been dug in many parts of the camp to give
the men training under the conditions they would find in France and
Flanders. But there had been some heavy rain, and when a battery of
heavy guns was fired too near a certain line of the trenches, the soft
earth slid in on top of the men occupying the defenses. They were
buried, a number of them being covered out of sight.

Fortunately there were plenty of entrenching tools on hand, and the
first thing to do was to begin digging the men out. This was done under
the direction of men of the engineer corps, who were experts in this
work.

A hasty calling of the roll showed that twenty men had been caught
in the cave-in, and within five minutes every one had been dug out.
Several were unconscious, but there were pulmotors in the camp,
and these were used until all but one of the victims was breathing
naturally, if faintly. This one man died, and several had broken arms,
legs and other injuries.

It was a serious and sad accident, and, for a time, cast a gloom over
the camp. But it was one of those seemingly unavoidable things for
which no one in particular was to blame. A court martial was held, and
the officer in charge of the work exonerated.

Nor was the commander of the battery, the firing of the guns of which
loosened the soft earth, held responsible. He had nothing to do with
the trenches, and it was not his fault.

The accident had its effect, though, in causing greater care to be
taken in making trenches after that, and bag or basket work was used,
to better bind the earth together. It was a soft and sandy soil,
without much body to it, and it shifted more easily than would earth
that had a clay mixture.

The accident was also used to good advantage in causing a deeper study
of trench work, and the manner of making the trenches and laying them
out. Many of the recruits had a deep-seated aversion to grubbing in the
ground, digging trenches, but it was part of the drill work and had to
be done. The lads likened it to sewer work, and no one liked it.

After the accident one of the French officers, who was an instructor
in camp, gave a series of lectures on trench warfare, and at the
conclusion there was not only a noticeable improvement in the
trenching, but there was more enthusiasm about it.

“A trench may save our lives when we get to France,” was the way Jerry
expressed it. “I’m going to learn all I can about them.”

“Same here!” echoed Ned.

What with athletic work, learning the different marching and fighting
formations, doing the necessary police work, studying the mechanism
of rifles and machine guns, learning how to signal, digging trenches,
throwing hand grenades and dozens of other things, Ned, Bob and Jerry
were kept busy from morning until night. So with the other recruits.

Of course there was a certain time set aside for play and amusement,
and each young soldier was told to play as hard as he worked. This was
so he might come back to his tasks refreshed, and with the desire to
give them the very best that was in him.

The motor boys soon realized that the making of a soldier was a task
that was growing in complication. There were many new ways of fighting,
and defending oneself, and all these had to be mastered.

The use of the aeroplane, camouflage, hand grenades, rifle grenades
and many other new and terrible forms of fighting made new systems
necessary. In gas attacks alone there was enough to study to keep
them busy many days in the week, and this branch was regarded as so
important that drill after drill was held merely in teaching the boys
the best and most rapid manner of adjusting the masks.

All this time Ned, Bob and Jerry were progressing. They were becoming
stronger physically, and better able to stand hardship and exposure.
They could take long marches, carrying heavy packs, without getting
over tired, and they knew how to bind up wounds, how to apply
first-aid dressings, and how to carry wounded comrades from the field.

Of course there was much that was unpleasant and hard. Many of their
associates were different from those they had been used to, and they
had to do what they were told--obey orders. No longer were they their
own masters. They lived by rule and rote, and every minute of the day,
save the recreation hours, had to be accounted for.

But they knew it was doing them good, and they knew it was in a good
cause--the cause of humanity and world-betterment--and they did not
complain, except perhaps in a good-natured way, and occasionally.

They had several more or less unpleasant encounters with Pug Kennedy
and fellows of his ilk, but this was to be expected. Ned’s back
completely healed and he was able to take his place in the hardest
drills with his chums.

Somewhat to the surprise of the boys they found that rifle work was not
rated as highly as they had expected it would be, for the reason, they
were told, that it has been found that in the present war machine guns
and artillery play such a big part.

Of course, for some time to come, the rifle will be the arm of the
infantry soldier. But it is coming to be more and more an auxiliary,
and not a direct means to an end. Hand grenades can do much damage
in the enemy trenches, and are easier to carry than a rifle and many
rounds of ammunition.

But of course there was rifle practice, and many a day the motor boys
and their chums spent on the ranges, perfecting their aim. Every
encouragement was offered them to become expert marksmen, and the three
friends were not far from the front when the markings were made.

The spring had given place to summer, and the camp was not any too
cool. But there were shower baths, and the officers were not over
severe in drills when the weather was too hot. There was plenty of
chance to cool off between drills.

Occasionally the boys would have short leaves of absence, on which they
made trips to town and took in a show or two, getting in on “smileage”
books, or reduced rate tickets.

It was after a hard day in the trenches, practice at bayonet drill, and
hand grenade throwing that Bob came into the Y. M. C. A. canteen where
Jerry and Ned had preceded him and asked:

“Did you see the notice?”

“What notice?” inquired Jerry.

“Is Pug Kennedy going to be transferred?” Ned demanded.

“Nothing doing,” announced Bob, as he slumped into a chair. He had
lost considerable flesh and looked the better for it.

“Well, what is it?” some one asked. “Has Germany given up the war?”

“I hope not until we get a chance to have a whack at her!” exclaimed
Jerry. “But shoot, Bob! What is it?”

“We’re going to have a practice march,” was the answer. “There’s just
been a notice posted about it. We’re to go in heavy marching order,
across country, and live just as we would if we were in an enemy’s
land.”

“That’s the cheese!” cried Ned. “We can live a sort of free and easy
life.”

“Don’t you fool yourself, son,” said an older man. “I’ve been on these
practice marches before. How are your feet?”

“Oh, pretty good.”

“Well, they’ll need to be,” was the answer. “Toting seventy pounds on
your back, through mud puddles, over rough country, uphill, downhill,
isn’t any picnic. Just wait!”




CHAPTER XXI

CROOKED NOSE AGAIN


“Forward--march!”

Snappily the command rolled out and it set in motion hundreds of
khaki-clad figures, each one with a rifle and a pack on his back.

The hike, or practice march, from Camp Dixton had started. After days
of preparation, the laying out of a route, and the sending forward of
supplies to meet the small army of men at different places along the
way, the start had been made.

Ned, Bob and Jerry recalled the rather direful prediction of the
soldier who had told them a marcher was only as good as his feet, but
they were not worried.

“I guess we can keep up as long as the next one,” Jerry had said.

“We’ve just got to!” declared Ned. “We can’t be shirkers.”

“I only hope I don’t get hungry,” said Bob, with rather a woebegone
face. “I’m going to put some cakes of chocolate in my pocket, so I can
have something to nibble on.”

“Don’t,” advised the same soldier who had spoken about their feet.
“Don’t eat sweet stuff until just before you can stop to take a drink.
Candy will make you thirsty, and the worst thing you can do is to take
a drink on the march. Wait until you stop. I’ve tried it, and I know.”

And so the march had started. The route was in a big circle about the
camp as a center, and would take about five days. The men were to sleep
in dog tents, camping at certain designated points, and eating the
rations they carried with them and the food that would be brought to
them by supply trains that accompanied the army. It was to be as much
like a hike through a hostile land as it was possible to make it.

In order to make the illusion complete--that of having the young
soldiers imagine they were at actual warfare--the same sort of marching
was to prevail as would have prevailed had the men from Camp Dixton
been on their way to take their place in the front line trenches,
bordering on No Man’s Land, or as if they were hastening to the relief
of a sorely-tried division.

To that end it was ordered that the day’s march should be broken up
into periods. That is, the soldiers would march at the regulation speed
for a certain number of miles, a distance depending, to a certain
degree, on the nature of the land and whether or not it was uphill or
downhill. At the end of the distance a halt would be called, and the
men would be allowed ten minutes’, or perhaps a half hour’s, rest.
They were told not to take off their packs during this period, as it
would be hard to get them adjusted to their backs again, but they were
instructed to ease themselves as much as possible, by resting the
weight of their packs on some convenient rock, log or hummock.

And so down the road went Ned, Bob and Jerry, in the midst of their
chums of the army--boys and men with whom they had formed, for the most
part, desirable acquaintances.

“This is one fine day,” remarked Jerry, as he and his friends trudged
along together.

“Couldn’t be better,” agreed Ned. “How about it, Chunky?”

“Oh, it’s all right, I guess,” was the answer.

“Chunky is worrying so much about whether or not he will have enough to
eat that he doesn’t know whether the sun is shining or whether it’s a
rainy day,” laughed a friend on the other side of the stout lad.

“Well, I like my meals,” said the stout one, and there was more
laughter.

On and on marched the young soldiers. Their officers watched them
closely, not only to gain a knowledge of the characteristics of the
men, but to note any who might be in distress, and also for signs of
stragglers who might purposely delay the march from a spirit of sheer
laziness. The younger officers were given points on the method of
marching and the care of their men by those who had been through the
ordeal before. It was a sort of school for all concerned.

The day was hot, and the roads were dusty, and to trudge along under
those circumstances with seventy pounds, more or less, strapped to
one’s back was difficult and trying work. But there was very little
grumbling. Each man knew he had to do his bit, and, after all, there
was a reason for everything, and a deep spirit of patriotism had
possession of all.

Now and then some one started a song, and the chorus was taken up
by all who could hear the air. This singing was encouraged by the
officers, for there is nothing that makes for better spirit than a
strain of music or a song on the march.

They passed through a farming country, and on all sides were evidences
of the work of the farmers. The injunction from Washington to raise all
possible seemed to have been taken to heart by the agriculturists.

Among the volunteers were many boys from cities, who had never seen
much of country life, and some of their remarks were amusing, as they
noted what was being done on the farms.

During one of the halts, when Ned, Bob and Jerry, with some of their
chums, were resting beside the road near a farmhouse, Jerry saw a
somewhat lively scene being enacted near the red barn which was part of
the farm outfit. Pug Kennedy and one or two of his cronies were chasing
some chickens.

As Jerry watched, he saw Pug knock a chicken down with the butt of his
rifle, and then seize the stunned fowl, and slip it inside his shirt,
which was big and baggy. Just as the scrapper did this a man came out
of the barn and began to remonstrate with the soldiers, of whom Pug
was one. But the Cresville friends noted that Pug walked away and came
toward them. The bulge in his shirt, made where he had hidden the
chicken, was plain to be seen.

The man who had come out of the barn was evidently accusing the
soldiers to whom he was talking of having taken his chicken. They
denied it, and offered to be searched. They could easily afford to do
this.

The farmer, getting little satisfaction, came back to appeal to the
company commander, who heard his story--one to the effect that a
chicken had been stolen.

As looting was strictly forbidden, and as orders had been given to
make good any loss met by civilians on account of the soldiers, it was
necessary to conduct an inquiry.

The captain started to question his men, but he had not proceeded far
when he came to Pug.

“Did you take his chicken?” the scrapper was asked.

“Naw! What would I want of a raw chicken?” was the answer.

Just then Jerry gave a loud sneeze, ending with an exclamation of
“Ker-choo!” which sounded a bit like a rooster’s crow.

There was a laugh at this, but Jerry had not done it intentionally, and
the officer seemed to know that. But Jerry had been standing near Pug
Kennedy when this happened, and the sneeze must have brought the hidden
chicken to its senses. It suddenly began to struggle inside Pug’s
shirt, and cackled. Perhaps it thought it heard the call of a comrade
fowl in Jerry’s sneeze.

“Ah, I think we have what we want,” said the officer. “Kennedy, bring
the chicken here!”

“I haven’t any----”

Again the hen cackled and stirred within the bully’s shirt. The
evidence was conclusive. There was a laugh, and with an air of having
been caught in a petty trick Pug took out the fowl, not much the worse
for its experience, and handed it to the farmer.

“If we weren’t on a hike, I’d send you to the guardhouse for that,”
said the officer sternly. “You know what the orders are against this
sort of business. I’ll take up your case when we get back to camp.
Fall in!”

Kennedy muttered something, and shot a look of anger at Jerry.

“That was your fault,” he said.

“My fault?”

“Yes, you sneezed on purpose like a rooster, and you woke up the hen!”

“Oh, come off! I sneezed by accident.”

“I don’t believe you!” said Pug. “I’ll get square all right!”

This seemed his favorite threat.

Jerry laughed. It seemed too far-fetched to be worth noticing, but he
was later to remember the promise of the bully.

The farmer, his chicken restored to him, was satisfied, and the march
was taken up again. Nothing of moment occurred the rest of that day,
and at night a halt was made, and the dog tents put up in the fields
and woods near the road. Each man carried half a tent, and by combining
the two halves shelter for the largest part of a man’s body was
secured. It was not as comfortable sleeping as in the barracks, but the
night was warm and the boys were full of enthusiasm, which made up for
a lot.

They were gaining valuable experience, and, aside from minor troubles,
every one was satisfied.

It was late the next afternoon, and considerable ground had been
covered, when something happened that had to do with Jerry, Ned and
Bob. They, as well as every one else, were thinking of the coming
night’s rest and a meal, when the order was given to rest, it being the
last of those occasions for the day, preparatory to going into camp for
the night.

As Ned, Bob and Jerry were taking what comfort they could beside the
road, the stout youth looked up as a wagon passed. In it was a man,
seemingly a farmer, and though he drove by quickly Bob exclaimed:

“There he is!”

“Who?” asked Jerry lazily.

“Crooked Nose!” answered Bob, greatly excited. “He’s the man we saw in
Cresville the night of the fire when the Frenchman was robbed! Look,
there he is!” and he pointed to the retreating wagon, which turned off
down a side road.




CHAPTER XXII

THE ACCUSATION


“Look here, Chunky!” exclaimed Jerry, with one look at his stout chum
and another at the tail-end of the wagon. “Is this a joke, or what?”

“Mostly what, I guess,” put in Ned. “If it’s a joke I don’t see the
point, giving us heart disease that way. What do you mean? Was it
Crooked Nose?”

“That’s what I said,” retorted Bob as nearly sharp as his bubbling
good-nature ever permitted him to be. “I tell you I saw the same man,
with the same crooked nose, that ran into you, Jerry, in the restaurant
that night in Cresville when we had the fire.”

“Naturally if it was the same man he had the same nose,” said Ned.

“Well, it was the same man all right,” went on Bob. “I don’t very often
forget a face.”

“Nor the time to eat,” added Jerry with a laugh. “Never mind, it will
soon be time, Chunky. Don’t let your stomach get the best of you.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bob.

“I mean I guess you’re getting delirious from want of food. You’re
seeing things.”

“I tell you I saw that man with the crooked nose!” asserted Bob. “And
moreover I think it’s our duty to follow him, and see what he’s doing
here. He may have my father’s watch, and Mrs. Hopkins’ brooch.”

“Maybe that’s true,” agreed Jerry. “But we’ve got pretty slim evidence
to act on. And it seems out of the question to believe that he would be
away down here. You probably did see a man with a crooked nose, Bob,
but there are lots such.”

“I’m sure it was the same one we saw in Cresville,” insisted the stout
lad. “Come on, let’s have a look down that road. We’ve got time.”

But they had not, for just then the order came to fall in, and the
march was resumed. But it was only a short hike to the place where camp
was to be made for the night, and when Bob found that it was not more
than two miles to the road down which he had seen the wagon turn, he
said to his chums:

“Say, fellows, we’ve got to investigate this.”

“Investigate what?” asked Jerry, shifting his pack to ease a lame spot
on one shoulder.

“Crooked Nose,” replied Bob. “We can ask for a little time off, and
take a hike by ourselves down this road. Maybe that fellow works on a
farm around here. Though what he’s doing so far from Cresville gets me.
I’ll wager it isn’t for any good. But we ought to look him up.”

“S’pose we find he’s the wrong man, even if he has a crooked nose?”
asked Ned, not eager for further hiking just then.

“We’ve got to take that chance,” Bob went on. “I’m sure, from the look
I had of him, that he’s the same one. Are you with me?”

“Well, you needn’t ask that,” was Jerry’s answer. “Of course we’re
with you. And if this turns out a fizzle we won’t say we told you so,
Chunky. It’s worth taking a chance on, though if we do find this is the
same crooked-nosed chap we saw at the time of the fire, it isn’t going
to prove that he robbed the Frenchman. If he got all that valuable
stuff he wouldn’t be here--he’d be in the city having a good time.”

“We’ll have to be careful about making an accusation, I guess,” agreed
the stout lad. “But if we find he _is_ the same chap we saw we could
telegraph to the police of Cresville and ask if he was wanted there.
If he is, the police there could take the matter up with the police of
this place. That’s the way they do it.”

“Are there any police here?” asked Ned, looking around with a smile,
for they were in the midst of a country that looked too peaceful to
need officers of the law.

“Oh, they always have constables, deputy sheriffs or something in these
villages,” said Jerry. “That part will be all right, Bob. Go to it.”

And “go to it” Bob did. As soon as the army had come to a stop and the
supper mess had been served, the three motor boys sought and received
permission to go off for a stroll. It was early evening, and they must
be back within the guard lines at ten, they were told, but this would
give them time enough.

Having traveled about as much as they had, the three friends had
acquired a good general sense of direction, and they had noted the
location of the highway down which Bob had said the crooked-nosed man
had driven.

It was their plan to go back to this point and make some inquiries
of any resident they might meet in regard to the existence, on some
neighboring farm, of a man with a nose decidedly out of joint.

“His defect is such that it surely will have been noticed,” said Bob.
“He’s a marked man if ever there was one, and he ought to be easy to
trace.”

As the three friends left the camp, armed with written permission to be
absent until “taps” that night, Jerry, looking across the field, where
the dog tents were already up, said:

“There goes Pug Kennedy. He must have a pass, too, for he’s going
toward the lines.”

“I hope he isn’t going to trail us,” remarked Bob. “If we make this
capture, or give information by which Crooked Nose is caught, we want
the honor ourselves,” he added, with a grin.

“Oh, Pug doesn’t know anything about the Cresville fire,” declared Ned.

“He might,” insisted Bob. “He lives just outside the town, and he may
have heard of the Frenchman’s loss and about Crooked Nose. Come on,
let’s get going, and not have him ahead of us.”

But Pug Kennedy did not seem to be paying any attention to the motor
boys. He marched steadily on, showed his pass to the sentry, and was
allowed to go through the line. Then he started off down the road.

“That’s the way we’re going,” objected Bob, in disappointed tones.

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him!” exclaimed Jerry. “He’s probably
going out to see if he can pick up any more hens. We’ll mind our own
affairs, and he can mind his.”

“If he only will,” murmured Ned.

However there was nothing to do but proceed with the plan they had
made. Whether it would succeed or not was a question, and there was
also a question as to what to do in case they should discover the
right crooked-nosed man. But, being youths of good spirits, the boys
did not worry much about this end of the affair.

Down the pleasant country road they marched, in the early twilight. It
would not be dark for a while yet, and they expected to make good use
of their time. Their first “objective,” as Bob said, would be the road
down which the crooked-nosed man had driven.

This place was soon reached, but it proved to be a lonely stretch of
highway. At least no house was in sight, and there appeared to be no
residents of whom information could be asked.

“But there may be a house just around the turn of the road,” suggested
Bob hopefully. “Let’s hike on.”

So go on they did, and they were rewarded by seeing, as they made the
turn in the highway, a farmhouse about a quarter of a mile beyond.

“Maybe he lives there, or works there,” suggested Bob.

“What gets me, though, Chunky,” said Jerry, “is what he would be doing
down here.”

“Nothing strange in it,” said the stout lad. “He may be a sort of tramp
farmer, and they go all over, the same as the umbrella men, or the
wash-boiler fixers. Come on!”

They hurried forward, eager for what lay ahead of them, and if they had
not been so eager they might have been aware of a figure which had cut
across lots and was sneaking along behind them. And the figure was that
of Pug Kennedy.

“I wonder what their game is?” Pug muttered to himself. “If they are
spying on me, it won’t be healthy for them. I’ll see what they’re up
to, and maybe I can put a spoke in their wheel.”

Reaching the house, Ned, Bob and Jerry saw, sitting out in front,
evidently resting after his day’s labors, a bronzed farmer. He looked
at the boys with interest, and inquired:

“What’s the matter? Lost your way?”

“No, we came to see you,” answered Jerry.

“To see me? Well, I’m sure I’m glad to see any of Uncle Sam’s boys.
Used to be one myself, but that’s long ago. Come in and set.”

“No, we’re on business,” went on Jerry, who had been elected spokesman.
“Have you seen a man around these parts with a very crooked nose?”

The farmer started, and looked closely at the boys.

“A crooked nose?” he repeated.

“Yes,” interjected Bob, “a _very_ crooked nose. It’s spread all over
one side of his face.”

“Why, that must be Jim Waydell! At least that’s what he called himself
when he came to work for me,” said the farmer, who had given his name
as Thomas Martin to the boys, when they told him who they were.

“Do you know him?” asked Jerry.

“Well, not very much, no. He came along, asked for work, and, as I was
short-handed, I gave it to him. Why do you ask?”

“We’re not sure whether he’s the man we want to see or not,” answered
Jerry, determined to be a bit cautious. “If we could have a look at him
close by----”

“He’s out in the barn now,” interrupted the farmer. “Go talk to him, if
you like.”

He waved his hand toward a ramshackle red building, and the three
boys started toward it. As they entered they heard some one moving
around, and then they caught sight of the very man they were looking
for standing in the opened rear door. The last rays of the setting sun
streamed full in on him from behind, and illuminated his face. His
crooked nose was very much in evidence.

“There he is!” exclaimed Bob.

And as if the words were a warning the man, with a cry, gave a jump up
into the haymow and disappeared from sight.

“Come on!” cried Ned. “We’ll get him!”

The three motor boys sprang to the pursuit, scrambling over the hay. It
was a noiseless chase, for the hay deadened all sounds. They could not
see the man, but it was evident that he was either going to hide, or
was making toward some unseen door by which he could escape.

“We’ll get him!” exclaimed Bob. “Come on!”

There came a cry from Ned.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.

“Slipped and stuck my hand into a hen’s nest in the hay,” was the
answer. “Broke about half a dozen eggs, I guess! Too bad! We might have
taken ’em back to camp to fry for breakfast.”

Hardly had Ned uttered the words than the boys were startled by hearing
a voice they knew--the voice of Pug Kennedy. It said:

“There they are now, Mister, stealing your eggs! I told you that’s what
they were after--robbing hens’ nests. Better look out for your eggs!”

“I will!” exclaimed the voice of the farmer, in answer to this
accusation. “I wondered at their story of the crooked-nosed man! They
just wanted to get into my barn! I’ll fix ’em!”




CHAPTER XXIII

THE MINSTREL SHOW


Ned, Bob and Jerry, hearing this talk, wondered greatly. What could it
mean?

“Come down out of there!” cried Mr. Martin. “Come down out of my
haymow, and tell me what you mean! What are you after, anyhow?”

“We want to catch that crooked-nosed man,” answered Jerry. “We didn’t
tell you before, but we think he is a thief.”

“Well, I come pretty near _knowing_ you are!” was the grim retort.
“Come down here!”

There was no choice but to obey, and rather puzzled as to what it all
meant, and why Pug Kennedy should come to make such an accusation, the
three chums slid to the barn floor from the haymow. They might miss
their chance of catching the crooked-nosed man, but it could not be
helped.

“There! What’d I tell you?” exclaimed Pug, pointing to Ned, as the
chums faced the now angry farmer. “If those aren’t egg stains I’ll
never eat another bit of chow!”

Too late Ned realized what his accidental slipping into the hen’s nest
meant. The evidence was damaging against him. The whites and yolks of
the eggs dripped from his hands, and there were stains on his uniform.

“Ha! Caught you, didn’t I?” exclaimed the farmer. “Now you’ll pay for
this!”

“We’re perfectly willing to pay for the damage we accidentally did to
your eggs,” answered Ned. “I believe I broke half a dozen, possibly
more. But it was while I was crawling around, trying to get the
crooked-nosed man, who was escaping.”

“It’s a good story, but it won’t wash,” laughed Pug Kennedy. “They were
after your eggs, farmer, and that’s the truth.”

“I believe you, and I’m much obliged to you for telling me. It isn’t
the first time I’ve been robbed by soldiers out on a hike, and I said
the next time it happened I’d complain. I’m going to. You’ll come with
me before your officers, and see what happens.”

“Oh, that’s all nonsense!” exclaimed Jerry. “We admit we broke some of
your eggs by accident, and we’re willing to pay, and pay well for them.
We didn’t intend to steal!”

“I should say not!” chimed in Ned, wiping his hands off on some hay.

“I don’t know what you might do,” was the answer. “I only know what
I see--egg stains. You might have sneaked into the barn if I hadn’t
seen you. And when I did notice you, you told me some story about a
crooked-nosed man to make it sound natural.”

“But there is a crooked-nosed man,” insisted Bob.

“Course there is,” said the farmer. “I admit that. But he isn’t such an
unusual man. For all I know you may have seen him driving in with my
wagon--he’d been to town--and you made up that story about wanting to
see him.”

“Yes, we did see him driving,” admitted Bob. “And then we thought----”

He stopped. He realized that appearances were against him and his
chums, and that any explanation they might make, especially after Ned’s
mishap with the eggs, would seem strange.

“First I thought you were all right, and really did want to see my
hired man,” went on the farmer. “But when this other soldier came and
said he’d seen you go into my barn, and had heard you talking about
getting eggs for a good feed, why, I realized what you were up to.”

“Did he tell you that yarn about us?” asked Jerry, looking at Pug.

“He did. And it’s the truth.”

“Well, it isn’t the truth, and he knows it!” cried Ned. “He’s taking
this means of getting even because of what he thinks we did to him. All
right! Let it go at that. We’ll go before the officers with you. We’re
not afraid! We’ll tell the truth.”

“You’d better!” declared Mr. Martin. “You wait till I hitch up and I’ll
take you back to camp. This soldierin’ business is all right, and I’m
in full sympathy with it. But it isn’t right to rob farmers, and your
officers won’t stand for it.”

“We didn’t intend to rob you,” said Jerry. “And while you are acting
this way that man, who may be a desperate criminal, is escaping. If
you are bound to take us before our officers, at least look after the
crooked-nosed chap.”

“Oh, I can lay hands on him when I want him,” said the farmer, and then
Ned, Bob and Jerry realized how futile it was to argue with him.

“It’s too bad!” murmured Bob, as they drove back to the camp in the
wagon, Pug declining to accompany them, saying he would walk.

“Yes, it is tough,” agreed Jerry. “Just when we were about to get hold
of Crooked Nose! If he’s the one you think he is, Bob, he’ll take the
alarm and skip.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Hang Pug, anyhow! What’s his game?”

“Maybe he made the accusation against us to cover up some trick of his
own,” suggested Ned, in a low voice so the now unfriendly farmer would
not hear. “Pug had some object in coming away from camp, and it wasn’t
to follow us, for he didn’t know what we were going to do.”

“I don’t believe he did,” assented Jerry. “But he must have followed
us, and when he saw us go into the barn he made up his mean mind to
make trouble for us.”

This was the only explanation the boys could think of, and they had to
let it go at that.

The three chums had to stand no little chaffing and gibing when they
were brought back to camp in practical custody of the farmer. It was
not uncommon for the lads, on hikes and practice marches, to raid
orchards and hen roosts, and punishment was always meted out to the
offenders, while payment for the damage done was taken from their pay,
and their comrades jumped to this as the explanation of the present
predicament of Ned, Bob and Jerry.

“But this accusation is unjust!” said Ned, when they were taken before
their captain. “It’s all a mistake.”

“Well, let’s hear about it,” said the officer somewhat wearily, for
there had been several cases of raids on this march.

Thereupon Mr. Martin told his story of having been informed by Kennedy
of the alleged intentions of the motor boys. And he told of having seen
them slide down from his haymow, one of them bearing unmistakable
evidence of eggs on his person.

“I know it looks queer,” said Ned.

“It certainly does,” agreed the captain, grimly.

But he was a just man and he listened to the boys’ story. He seemed
somewhat surprised at the mention of the crooked-nosed man, but he made
no comment, and when all was said he gave his judgment.

It was to the effect that as the boys had affirmed on their honor as
soldiers and gentlemen that they were telling the truth, he could not
but believe them. At the same time it was evident that they had done
some slight damage, and had put the farmer to some inconvenience in
bringing them back to camp, and it was only fair that they should pay.
Having already offered to make payment, they were very willing to do
this.

So the incident was ended, and the farmer, convinced that he was in the
right, and jingling in his pocket a good price for the broken eggs,
went back to his home.

So, much to their regret, the boys lost trace of Crooked Nose, or Jim
Waydell, as the farmer had called him. They could not look for the
suspect again that night, and the next morning they had to march away
with their comrades.

“But when we get back to camp we’ll take a day or so off on furlough
and come back here and see if we can land him,” declared Bob. “We’re
not sure enough of his identity, on such casual glances, to cause his
arrest on mere information. We’ve got to get him ourselves and find out
more about him.”

“We’re with you!” said Jerry, heartily.

The practice march was a success from a military standpoint, though it
showed up some weak spots in the organization. But that was one of the
objects.

For several days after the return of the army there were light drills
to enable the boys to recover from the strenuous exercise. Then one
evening Bob, in a state of some excitement, came hurrying into the Y.
M. C. A. quarters, looking for Ned and Jerry.

“What’s up now?” they asked. “Have you seen Crooked Nose again?”

“No, but our company’s going to give a minstrel show, and the committee
has asked me if we three will take part in it.”

“A minstrel show?” repeated Jerry.

“Yes, black up and everything!” exclaimed Bob. “It’ll be fun! Let’s do
it!”




CHAPTER XXIV

A BLACK-FACE PURSUIT


Life in the United States army is very nicely balanced, at least in the
big cantonments where civilians are turned into soldiers in about six
months’ time.

That is to say there is a well-balanced schedule, so much work and so
much play. Reading the schedule of what is required in the way of drill
would lead one to suppose that there was no time for play at all, but
there is, even on the French front, with grim No Man’s Land staring one
in the face. Shows and plays are sometimes given within sound of the
big guns.

The officers in charge of the men well knew that “all work and no play
makes Jack,” not only a dull boy, but a poor soldier. So recreation
is planned for. Part of this plan is to let the young fellows amuse
themselves, make their own fun, which sometimes is better than having
it made by others.

The captain of the company in which Ned, Bob and Jerry lived, moved and
had their being, had planned a minstrel show, as Bob had said. On the
cantonment grounds was a theater to which professionals occasionally
came from the cities to give their services. Almost every night there
was a moving picture show.

“But this is to be different,” explained Bob, to his listening chums.
“Captain Trainer has found out that there’s considerable talent in our
bunch----”

“Ahem! did you look at me?” asked Jerry, assuming an air of importance.

“He pointed to me!” declared Ned.

“You’re both wrong! It was I--Macbeth--he meant!” declaimed a lad with
a deep and resonant voice.

“Oh, cut it out and listen,” advised Bob. “This is the game. The
captain has found out there are a lot of fellows in our company who
have acted in amateur theatricals, and there are a few professionals.
So he’s going to get up a minstrel show, and let the other companies
see what we can do. There’ll be a little admission charged, and if we
make any money it will go into the company’s fund to buy----”

“Grub!” some one cut in, and everybody laughed, for by this time all
knew Bob’s weak point.

“Well, grub, if you like,” he admitted. “But say, fellows, won’t it be
great?”

“Sure!” came in a chorus.

And then the boys fell to talking about the coming minstrel show.

Preparations for it went on apace. Captain Trainer was an enthusiast,
and when he set out to do a thing he carried it to a finish. It was
that way with the minstrel show.

A good many “try-outs” and much practice work were necessary. Then,
after a deal of weeding work, like that which a careful gardener gives
his plants, a very good show was evolved.

It took pattern after the usual black-face affairs, with end-men,
bones, tambourines, the interlocutor and specialists. Some of the lads
were very clever, and really were almost as good as professionals. Ned,
Bob and Jerry were called on to state what they could do, and when it
was found that they had a comic-song trio “up their sleeves,” they were
put down for that.

“We’ll make a hit all right,” declared Bob, after one of the rehearsals.

“If we don’t get hit ourselves,” added Jerry.

“That’s right!” chimed in Ned. “I understand there is a premium on old
cabbage stumps and other articles of that nature.”

“Don’t let him scare you, Jerry,” advised the stout lad. “He’s only
afraid of that high note of his. But don’t worry, Ned. We’ll cover you
up if you make a break!”

“Huh! I like your nerve. Now come on, let’s try that jazz song over
again,” which they did, to the delight of those privileged to listen to
the try-out.

In the camp was a professional who showed the boys how to make up
with grease paint; burnt cork, the time-honored method of making a
black-faced comedian, is now only used by boys when they play in the
barn. On the stage, even for amateurs, black grease paint is used.

“Say, you look just like a negro!” exclaimed Bob to Jerry, as they were
getting dressed in the evening before the show was to be given. “You’ve
even got the walk down pat.”

“Yes. I’ve been practicing a bit,” Jerry admitted. “If you’re going to
do a thing, do it right, I say. You’re not bad yourself, Bob.”

“Oh, well, my figure is against me. But I guess we’ll make out all
right.”

Indeed the three motor boys were taking special pains with their
appearance. That is not to say the other actors were not also, but Ned,
Bob, and Jerry seemed to enter into the spirit of it more than some of
their chums.

The various acts came off as planned, and were much appreciated by the
audience. There were many local hits and take-offs, not only on the
enlisted men, but on the officers as well. Mild fun was poked at the
different weaknesses of many in the ranks, and not a few of those
higher up, and considerable laughter resulted.

The three Cresville friends did their act so well that they were
recalled again and again, and if they had not prepared something for
encores, which Jerry had insisted on, they might have had merely to bow
their thanks. As it was they sang verse after verse of a comical song,
bringing in all their friends, to the great delight of the latter.

“You couldn’t have done better, boys,” complimented Captain Trainer,
as Ned, Bob, and Jerry came off the stage for the last time. “I’m glad
you’re with us. When we get over on the other side I hope you’ll still
keep up your spirits enough to give us some enjoyment, when we’ll need
it more than we do here.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Jerry modestly.

“You’d think they were a bunch of professionals to hear them talk,”
came a low, sneering voice to the ears of the three chums, when the
captain walked away. There was no need to ask who had spoken. It was
Pug Kennedy, and he was standing just outside the dressing room,
talking to one or two of his special cronies. He did not have many
associates. His “scrappy” nature prevented this.

“I’ve a good mind to go over and give him a punch,” declared Ned,
angrily. “He’s made too many of those uncalled-for remarks of late.
I’m not going to stand it!”

“Don’t start a row now,” advised Jerry. “It will spoil all the fun. Let
him alone. I heard something to the effect that he was going to apply
for a transfer, and if he does he won’t bother us any more.”

“I hope to goodness he does,” said Bob. “He makes me tired!”

Pug gazed over in the direction of the three friends, almost as if
inviting trouble, and then, seeing that they were not going to resent
the remark he had made with the intention that they should hear it,
he lighted a cigarette and strolled out into the darkness. Discipline
was somewhat relaxed on account of the minstrel show, and permission
was given for the men to remain up an hour later than usual, while the
guard lines were extended to allow considerable strolling about.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk,” suggested Bob. “It will cool us off.”

“What, walk with this black stuff on our faces?” exclaimed Ned. “If any
one sees us we’ll be taken for negroes.”

“What of it?” asked Jerry. “Every one knows what’s going on. Besides,
we can’t wash up yet. We have to go on in the final chorus in about an
hour. I’m with you, Bob! We’ll take a walk and cool off.”

They strolled through the camp, and presently found themselves near its
outskirts. They had plenty of time, as they had finished their special
part of the programme, and only came on in the grand “wind-up.”

As they were walking along, talking intermittently of the show and
the chances of going “over there,” Bob, who was slightly in the lead,
called in a low voice:

“Look, fellows! See him!”

“See who?” asked Ned. “Do you mean Pug Kennedy?”

“No, but look over under that light!” went on Bob, pointing. “Don’t
you see that man. It’s Crooked Nose again! Come on! We’ll get him this
time!” and he started to run, followed by Ned and Jerry, who did,
indeed, see in the glare of a camp light, the form of a man. And, as he
momentarily turned his face toward them, they saw that his countenance
was marred by a bent and crooked nose.

The boys gave pursuit, their faces still blackened.




CHAPTER XXV

“A PRISONER”


“What’s he doing here?”

“Where’s he going?”

“Did he see us?”

These were the questions asked in turn by Ned, Bob, and Jerry, as they
slipped along in the darkness, following the man with the crooked nose,
whom they had so unexpectedly seen.

“Maybe he came to laugh at us for the way the tables were turned on us,
the time we tried to catch him in the farmer’s barn,” suggested Jerry.

“He’s come a long distance out of his way for a little thing like
that,” commented Ned. “I’m inclined to think he came here to meet some
one. After Bob spoke I saw the fellow look at his watch as though
impatient because of an appointment not kept.”

“Well, where’s he going now?” asked Bob, repeating his question.

“I guess it’s up to us to find out,” replied Jerry.

“Maybe he’s trying to lead us into an ambush,” suggested Bob.

“Cut out the dime-novel stuff,” advised Jerry, with a low laugh. “I’ve
got a better explanation than that, and the real one.”

“What is it?” asked Ned.

“It’s our black faces,” returned the tall chum. “If that crooked-nosed
man--Jim Waydell the farmer called him, though it may not be his right
name--if he saw us at all, which he probably did, he takes us for
negroes. That’s why he isn’t worried. He thinks we’re camp roustabouts,
and that we don’t know anything about him.”

“I believe you’re right!” exclaimed Ned, after a moment’s thought. “We
do look like a trio of colored chaps, and that’s why he isn’t getting
worried and taking it on the run. Say, it’s a lucky thing we are this
way.”

“Maybe,” assented Jerry. “Now mind your talk. Do the negro dialect as
well as you can, fellows, and we may find out something about this
mysterious Crooked Nose. If we can bring about his arrest for robbing
the Frenchman, or for setting the fire, which Mr. Cardon seemed to
think he did, it will be a good thing for us and Cresville. So pretend
we are colored men with a few hours off.”

The boys walked as near as they thought safe to the solitary suspect,
who was trudging down the road alone. When they spoke aloud the motor
boys simulated the broad negro tones, talking and laughing as they
had often heard the camp teamsters and servants do, for the place was
overrun with good-natured, if rather shiftless, colored men.

As for “Mr. Crooked Nose,” as the boys sometimes called him, he seemed
to pay little attention to those who were following him. Either he took
them for genuine colored men, and, as such, persons who could have no
interest in his movements, or he was indifferent to the fact that they
might be some of the minstrel players.

What the man’s object was in coming to camp, when the farm on which he
was supposed to work was several miles away, could only be guessed at.
But the boys hoped to find it out.

They were approaching the camp confines, and were debating whether they
could risk going beyond them, when the crooked-nosed man turned into a
field, and made his way toward a deserted barn. This was one that had
been on a farm when the land had been taken by the government for Camp
Dixton.

“Maybe he’s going to sleep there,” suggested Bob. “Or perhaps he is
going to meet some one there.”

“Keep quiet,” advised Jerry. “We’ll walk on down the road, as if we
didn’t care what he did. Then we’ll circle back and sneak up to the
barn. Maybe we can find out something about him. Strike up a song, so
he’ll think we’re what we pretend to be.”

They began humming the chorus of one of the songs they had sung in the
minstrel show, and so passed on down the road. There was a moon, and
the movements of the crooked-nosed man could easily be observed. He
struck off across the vacant lots toward the barn, not even looking
back at the singing boys, who did, indeed, have the appearance of
negroes.

Proceeding far enough beyond a turn of the road to be hidden from
sight, Ned, Bob, and Jerry waited a few minutes, and then turned back.
This time they did not sing, and they talked only in whispers.

Cautiously they approached the barn, looking for any sign of a light
or any movement that would indicate the presence of the mysterious man
or of a person who had come there to meet him, or with whom he had
expected to keep a rendezvous.

“‘All quiet along the Potomac,’” quoted Bob, in a low voice.

“Well, have it quiet here, too,” whispered Jerry. “We may discover
something, and we may not. But there’s no use in giving ourselves away.
He may get angry if he finds we’re not what we seem to be, and knows
that we’ve been following him. Go easy now!”

The young soldiers finally stood in the shadow of the barn and listened
intently. At first they heard nothing but the rattle and flap of some
loose pieces of wood.

“He’s gone!” murmured Ned.

“Listen!” advised Jerry.

Even as he spoke they all heard the low murmur of voices. And the
voices were those of men.

“We’ve got to get nearer, where we can hear better,” whispered Jerry to
his chums. “It’s around this way.”

He led the way to the side of the barn that was in the deepest shadow,
and presently they came to a stop below a small window. The glass had
been broken out of it, and through the aperture came the tones of the
voices more distinctly. One said:

“When did he say he was coming?”

“He promised to be here to-night,” was the answer.

Of course the boys, not having heard the crooked-nosed man’s voice, did
not know which was his, nor which was his companion’s.

“To-night; eh?” came in sharp tones. “Well, he didn’t come, and you
tell him I want to see him, and see him bad. I’m tired of hanging
around here without any money, and I’m working like a dog on that farm.”

“That’s Crooked Nose,” whispered Bob.

“Yes,” agreed Jerry.

“Well, I’ll tell him,” said the other voice. “I don’t know what’s got
into him lately. But he and Pug have some game on and----”

The voice died out into an indistinguishable murmur.

“Did you hear that?” demanded Ned, and his voice was so sharp that
Jerry clapped a hand over his friend’s lips.

“Quiet!” he cautioned.

They listened, but the voices were no longer heard. Instead came the
sound of feet tramping on bare boards.

“They’re going away,” murmured Bob.

“Let’s stay here and see what happens,” suggested Ned. “I’d like to
know who that other man is. Maybe there’s spy work going on in our
camp!”

It was within the bounds of possibility.

Waiting in the shadows, the motor boys heard the footsteps die away.
Then the murmur of voices sounded again. They came nearer, and
indicated that those who were talking were outside the barn.

“Well, I’ll tell him you want to see him,” said the man who was with
the crooked-nosed fellow.

“You’d better! He can have all the games he wants with Pug, but he’s
got to make a settlement with me. I took all the risk, and he got all
the money. I want my share!”

“I’ll tell him!”

“And now about this storehouse business,” went on the other. “Can you
get into it?”

“I have an extra key. And Kratzler----”

“No names!” warned the other quickly. “You can’t tell who may be
sneaking about. Nix on the names!”

Then the voices died away again, and the boys, listening, could hear
nothing more.

“There’s something wrong going on here!” decided Ned. “Did you hear
Pug’s name mentioned twice?”

“Yes,” assented Jerry. “But it may not be the one we know.”

“I believe it is,” went on Ned. “We’ve got to find out more about this.
There they go!”

He pointed to two figures, dimly seen. They were moving rapidly away
across the field.

“Come on!” exclaimed Ned, in a tense whisper.

Just then in the distance, two shots rang out.

“That’s the signal!” cried Jerry. “They’re ending the sketch ‘The
Sentry’s Last Challenge.’ We go on right after that in the final
chorus. We’ve got about five minutes to make it. Come on! Hike!”

“But what about these fellows?” asked Bob.

“We’ll have to let them go,” decided Ned. “We can’t afford to spoil
the minstrel show for the sake of something that may not amount to
anything.”

“Not even to catch Crooked Nose?” asked Bob, in disappointed tones.

“We’ll take up his case later,” said Jerry. “Just now we’re minstrels.
Come on.”

There was nothing else to do, and though the boys wanted to remain and,
if possible, solve the mystery, they felt that they owed it to Captain
Trainer to make the minstrel show a success. They had important parts,
and the shots they had heard fired were blank cartridges, discharged
during the enactment of a little skit, played by some members of their
company.

The two men had disappeared in the shadows, and it was a question
whether the boys could have spied on them to any further advantage that
night. So they hurried back, arriving just in time to take part in the
last chorus.

After the show, which was voted a big success, the boys debated among
themselves whether they should report what they had seen and heard and
mention Pug Kennedy’s name. Also they talked of the time when they had
seen Pug have a midnight meeting with some one.

“There was more in that than appeared on the surface,” declared Ned.

“Yes, I agree with you,” said Jerry. “And there’s something in this
affair to-night, too. But we don’t know enough to cause more than
suspicions, and there’s a chance that things would go against us.”

“Then what are we to do?” asked Bob.

“Keep quiet, I say, until we have more definite information,” was the
tall lad’s answer. “We can make another attempt to find out more about
this crooked-nosed man.”

“That’s what I say,” decided Ned. “Let’s wait a bit.”

So they said nothing about having followed the man to the barn, being
able to get close to him because he took them for negroes, and they
bided their time.

The minstrel show made a welcome break in the monotony of camp life,
and it acted like a good tonic. The boys were the more ready to take up
the routine of work, and there was plenty of it.

As they progressed in their soldier life Ned, Bob and Jerry found it
more interesting. The need of the various drills began to be better
understood. They liked the work on the rifle ranges, the machine gun
exercises and the trench work. They went on several other hikes, and at
times were given charge of some new squads of drafted men who came to
camp.

It was about two weeks after the minstrel show that Jerry, Bob and Ned
were all out on guard together when they heard the man on the post next
to Jerry’s calling:

“Corporal of the guard!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry, as he sent the call down the line.

“I’ve got a prisoner!” was the answer. “I caught him trying to get in
through the lines! I guess he’s a German spy!”

“Maybe it’s the crooked-nosed man!” exclaimed Bob.

“Or the one who was with him in the barn,” added Ned.

“Or the one they spoke of as going into some game with Pug,” said
Jerry. “Come on! We’d better go help Kelly.” Kelly was the name of the
sentry who had called.

The three boys went off on a run in the darkness, going to the aid of
their comrade. Little did they dream of the surprise in store for them.




CHAPTER XXVI

A NIGHT ALARM


“Corporal of the Guard! Post Number Ten!”

This was the cry, in various intonations, that went ringing down the
line in the darkness. As instructed, Ned, Bob and Jerry, being the
nearest to the place of the alarm, went to render what aid might be
necessary to the sentry who had first called. Meanwhile the corporal of
the guard, rousing those whose duty it was to go out with him and see
to the disturbance, was hastening to the scene.

As Ned, Bob and Jerry approached they heard some one saying:

“But I must have it! I tell you I must get it. It is exceedingly
valuable, and you ought not to stop me.”

“Stop you! I’ve stopped you all right!” came the vigorous tones of
Kelly, the sentry.

“But I must get through. I must!”

“And I say you must not! Trying to run the guard under my very nose;
that’s what you were trying to do. But I caught you! You’re a German
spy--that’s what you are!”

“No, I assure you that you are mistaken,” came a gentle voice in
answer. “I am only after some new specimens----”

Ned, Bob and Jerry gave a shout.

“It’s him, all right!” cried Jerry, enthusiastically if not
grammatically.

“I thought it sounded like him,” added Ned.

“Hello, Professor Snodgrass!” called Bob. “It’s all right. Keep quiet.
We’ll be with you in a minute!”

They raced up to the excited sentry, who stood holding a small,
bald-headed man, at the same time flashing in his face a pocket
electric lamp.

“Oh, it’s you, boys, is it?” asked the little man, who did not seem
at all disturbed by the situation in which he found himself. “Well,
I’m glad to see you. I just arrived, getting in rather late on account
of a delayed train. I walked over, intending to visit you. I had no
idea it was so late, but I am glad it is, for I have just seen some
specimens of moth that only fly about this hour. I wanted to catch some
but--er--this gentleman----”

Professor Snodgrass, for it was he, paused and looked at his captor.

“You’re right! I wouldn’t let you go chasin’ through the lines!”
exclaimed Kelly. “Do you know him?” he asked the motor boys.

“He is a friend of ours,” declared Jerry. “We know him well. He is
Professor Uriah Snodgrass, of Boxwood Hall, and what he says is
true--he does collect moths and other bugs.”

“Sufferin’ cats!” cried Kelly. “And I took him for a German spy! I
beg your pardon,” he went on. “My father was a professor in Dublin
University, and I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll help you collect bugs
when I’m off duty.”

“Thank you!” said Professor Snodgrass, as if it was the most natural
thing in the world to get offers of assistance in this way. “I shall
be glad of help. Ha! There is one of the late-flying moths now!” and
he reached over and made a grab for something on the shoulder of the
corporal of the guard, who had come running up.

“Here! None of that! What’s the idea! Disarm him!” cried the corporal,
who was hardly awake yet. “Has he bombs on him?” he asked of Kelly.

“I guess it’s all a mistake,” the sentry replied. “I was patrolling
my post, when I saw some one walking along, and seemingly picking
things up off the ground. Or maybe, I thought, he was planting infernal
machines. So I rushed over and grabbed him, and I yelled and----”

“I was only gathering bugs by the light of my little electric lamp,”
the professor explained. “I had no idea I was so near the army camp,
though I intended to visit it to see my friends,” and he motioned to
the motor boys. With his usual absent-mindedness he had forgotten all
about everything but what he saw immediately before him--the bugs and
the night moths.

“Do you know this gentleman?” asked the corporal of Jerry.

“Yes, he is a very good friend of ours.”

“Then you may release him,” went on the corporal to Kelly. “And we are
sorry for what happened.”

But it is doubtful if Professor Snodgrass heard him, for the little
scientist was again reaching forward to get something from the shoulder
of the corporal. This time he succeeded, and those gathered about had a
glimpse of a white, fluttering object.

“One of the finest and largest white moths I have ever caught!”
exclaimed the delighted professor. “I thank you!” he added, as though
the corporal had done him a great favor by serving as a perch for the
insect.

The excitement caused by the capture of the “prisoner” soon passed, and
the corporal went back to his rest, while Ned, Bob and Jerry, whose
tour of duty was up, took Professor Snodgrass in charge.

They explained the matter to the officer in charge of their barracks,
and a spare bunk was found for the college instructor.

But he did not seem inclined to use it. He wanted to sit up and enter
in his note book something about the specimens he had caught in such
a sensational manner, but when it was explained to him that to have
lights in an army camp after ten o’clock was against the regulations,
except in cases of emergency, he put out his pocket electric lantern
and dutifully went to sleep, with his specimen boxes under his bed.

The next day Professor Snodgrass told the boys that so many students
had enlisted from Boxwood Hall that the teaching force was greatly
reduced.

“I was given a leave of absence,” he added, “and I decided to come to
see you, and, at the same time, make a study of Southern moths and
other insects. So I came on, getting in rather late, as I mentioned.”

“We’re mighty glad to see you,” returned Jerry.

“How are things in Cresville?” asked Ned. “Or didn’t you stop there?”

“Yes, I did, as I wanted to get your exact addresses. Matters are
quiet. A number of the boys have enlisted, or been drafted, as you
know, but otherwise things are about the same, your folks say.”

“Any more news about the fire?” asked Bob.

“Well, the ruins are still there, and I believe that Frenchman--whose
name I don’t recall--is in much distress about the loss of his money.”

“And Crooked Nose has been here!” burst out Bob. “We must try to nab
him!”

He and his chums talked about the possibility of this, but it is
doubtful if Professor Snodgrass heard, for, just then, a peculiar bug
attracted his attention, and he began to “stalk” it, as Ned remarked.

The boys enjoyed the visit of the little scientist, and he took an
interest in matters about Camp Dixton; that is, when he was not
collecting bugs, in which occupation he spent most of his time.

It was on the night of Professor Snodgrass’ third day’s stay at the
place where the soldier city had sprung up. Some hours after Ned, Bob
and Jerry had gone to their bunks at the signal of taps, they were
awakened by an alarm.

“I’ve got him! I’ve got him!” some one shouted.




CHAPTER XXVII

THE HAND GRENADE


“Did you hear that?” asked Ned of Jerry, for the sound of the alarm in
the night had penetrated to their barracks, and several had awakened.

“I’ve got him! I’ve got him! He mustn’t get away!” was shouted again,
and then a glimmer of the truth began to dawn on Jerry.

“Corporal of the guard, post number seven!” was shouted from somewhere
out on the fields about the camp.

By this time all in the immediate vicinity of the barracks, where Ned,
Bob and Jerry had their bunks, were aroused. Lights were set aglow,
and Ned, looking over to a bed which had been temporarily placed for
Professor Snodgrass, cried:

“He’s gone!”

“Yes. And I guess he’s the one who’s got him!” added Jerry with a
laugh. “I think it was his voice that caused the disturbance. Perhaps
we’d better go out and see what it all is. If it’s some one who doesn’t
know the professor they might take him for a spy, and use him roughly.”

“Who do you suppose he’s caught?” asked Bob. “Do you think it can be
Crooked Nose or one of his cronies?”

“I don’t imagine it’s anything as dramatic as that,” returned Jerry. “I
rather think the professor has been bug-hunting again, and he has found
his quarry most unexpectedly, which has caused his jubilation.”

And this they found to be true. When they had slipped on a few garments
and their shoes and had gone outside, they found Professor Snodgrass
walking along between two sentries. On the faces of the soldiers were
puzzled looks, but on that of the little scientist was a gentle and
satisfied smile, as though the world had used him very well indeed.

“I have it, boys!” he exclaimed, as he caught sight of his three
friends. “It is one of the rarest of its kind. I caught it----”

“He caught it on my post, whatever it is,” said one of the sentries.
“And he nearly scared my supper out of me. Talk about snakes! I’d
rather see ’em any night!”

“What did you find?” asked Jerry of the professor.

“A new kind of centipede,” was the answer, and the professor showed, in
a glass-topped box, a horrible, many-legged insect that was squirming
around, trying to get out.

“Oh, landy!” cried the sentry who had apprehended the little scientist,
peering into the box. “And to think one of them was loose on my post!
Say, how long do you live after one bites you?” he asked anxiously.
“There might be more where I have to walk, and if one nips me----”

“Don’t worry,” said Professor Snodgrass. “The bite of this centipede,
while it is painful, is not deadly. Proper treatment will make you
safe. But this is a most wonderful specimen. I had hoped to find one,
but not so soon.”

“And didn’t you discover anything else?” asked an officer who had come
out to see what the excitement was about.

“Anything else? No, but I’ll keep on looking, if you’ll let me. I may
find a scorpion, though I am a bit doubtful about finding them so far
north. However, I’m sure that just before I caught the centipede I saw
a number of giant spiders with double stings. I’d like to look for
them, and----”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant!” exclaimed the sentry who had caught the
professor. “But would you mind giving me another post? He found all
them animals he speaks of right here where I’m patrollin’.” And the
soldier looked more frightened than if he had been told to charge on a
battery of machine guns.

“I mean you saw no unauthorized persons trying to get through the
lines, did you?” asked the lieutenant of the professor. “The insects
were all you found?”

“Yes, but I haven’t found enough,” answered the scientist. “I should
like more time. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to hunt for specimens,
and I was most successful.”

“I’m afraid we shall have to ask you to postpone your operations until
morning,” said the officer with a smile. “We want you to feel free to
advance the cause of science as much as you can, but a war camp at
night is a nervous sort of place, and the least alarm disturbs a large
number of men.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Snodgrass. “I can, of course, wait until it is
light. There may be more scorpions and centipedes out then.”

“I’m glad I go off duty,” murmured the sentry.

Official explanations were then made. As he had said, Professor
Snodgrass had been unable to sleep, and had arisen, without awakening
the boys or any of their comrades, and had gone outside the barracks
with his electric flash light and his collection boxes.

He had seen the centipede wiggling along in the sand, and had caught
it, his yells of delight, announcing the fact, giving the alarm, and
causing the sentries to think a corporal’s guard of German spies had
descended on them. Two of them made a rush for the professor, much to
his surprise. For when he was getting specimens he was oblivious to his
surroundings, thinking only of what he was after.

The camp finally settled back to quietness again, and the professor
went with the boys back to the barracks, but it was some time before
any of them got to sleep again.

The next day Professor Snodgrass found a number of what he said were
very rare and valuable bugs from a collector’s standpoint, but which,
to the boys and their chums, seemed to be utterly worthless and great
pests, for most of them bit or stung.

“Ah, but you don’t understand!” the scientist would say, when
objections were made to his viewpoint.

“Well, as long as you catch bugs by daylight, and don’t wake us up in
the middle of the night, we’ll forgive you,” said Ned.

“Especially after disappointing us so,” added Jerry.

“Disappoint?” queried the professor. “Why, I couldn’t have asked for a
better specimen of centipede than the one I captured.”

They had a day’s furlough coming to them, and they decided to use it,
when it was granted, in making a search for the crooked-nosed man.
At the same time they could enjoy an outing with the professor, and
watch him catch “bugs,” as the boys called all his specimens, whether
they were horned toads or minute insects that needed a microscope to
distinguish them from the leaves on which they fed.

“This will be like old times,” declared Bob, as they started out one
day after the morning mess, the professor being a guest of Jerry’s
company.

But though the expedition was a success from a scientific standpoint,
in that Professor Snodgrass secured many new specimens, it was a
failure as far as the crooked-nosed man was concerned. There was no
trace of him at the old barn. In fact the boys scarcely expected to
find any there. But they did hope to get some news of him from Mr.
Martin, the farmer who had so unjustly accused the chums of taking eggs.

“But he isn’t here,” said that person, when the boys had tramped out to
his place and made inquiries. Mr. Martin seemed somewhat ashamed of the
rôle he had played, and tried to make amends.

“I guess you boys scared him away,” he said, referring to the
crooked-nosed man. “I don’t know anything about him except that he said
his name was Jim Waydell, and he came along here, asking for work. I
sized him up as a sort of tramp, but he was handy around the place,
and, as I needed a man, I took him on, though I didn’t like his looks.
But I figured he couldn’t help that. Anyhow he’s skipped, and I don’t
know where he is.”

That seemed to end the matter, though the boys had hopes of coming
across the crooked-nosed man again.

“Not only would we like to get him on account of the part he may
have had in robbing the Frenchman,” announced Jerry, “but I think he
and some others, including Pug Kennedy, are mixed up in a plan to do
some damage to the camp. We don’t know enough to say anything without
getting laughed at, perhaps, but we may be able to find out.”

“That’s right!” exclaimed the professor. “Keep your eyes open. If I
hadn’t done that I’d never have caught the centipede.”

They returned to camp, and the next day Professor Snodgrass had to
leave. He was on his way farther south, to visit a scientific friend,
the two expecting to go on a collecting trip together.

“I may stop and see you on my way north again,” said the scientist. “If
I hear anything of the crooked-nosed man I’ll let you know.”

Once again the boys took up the routine of camp life. They were being
made into good soldier material, along with thousands of their chums
and comrades, and they were beginning to love the life, hard as it was
at times.

They drilled, and drilled, and drilled again; they perfected themselves
in the use of the rifle and the bayonet; and they received machine gun
instructions.

“What is it to be to-day?” asked Bob, as they went out from the mess
hall. “Do we hike or shoot?”

“Hand grenade practice,” answered Jerry.

“Good!” exclaimed Ned.

There was a fascination in hurling the lemon-shaped projectiles from
trenches, and watching them blow up the earth and stones beyond, where
some Germans were supposed to be hiding.

Hand grenades are of several kinds. That used at Camp Dixton was a
variation of the Mills bomb, consisting of a hollow metal container,
shaped like a lemon, but somewhat larger. It is made of cast iron and
is crisscrossed and scored with a number of depressed cuts, which
divide the surface of the grenade into lozenge-like sections. The
grenade is filled with a powerful explosive, set off by a time fuse,
and when the bomb detonates it bursts into pieces, along the scored
lines, and the hundreds of lozenge-like pieces of iron become so many
bullets, flying in all directions.

The hand grenade is thrown with a motion such as a cricketer uses in
“bowling” the ball. It is an overhand style of throwing, and this has
been found best for accuracy and does not tire the arm as much as a
straight throw. The arm is held stiff as the bomb is hurled.

The time fuse can be set to explode the bomb as it reaches the other
trench, or it may be made to explode in mid-air, and, also, the
detonation can be made to take place after the bomb has landed.

As long as the bomb is held in the hand it is harmless, for the fingers
press down on an outside lever that controls the firing mechanism. But
as soon as this hold is released, after the bomb has been made ready
for firing, it is likely to explode. Consequently after a bomb has been
hurled away from one, it is a good thing to keep one’s distance from it.

“Lively work now, boys!” called the captain, as Ned, Bob and Jerry,
with their chums, entered the trench for the hand grenade work. “Just
imagine there are a lot of Germans in that other trench who need
extermination.”

The practice began, and for a time one would have thought a real battle
was in progress, so rapid were the explosions of the grenades. A short
distance down the trench, in which the Cresville friends were, stood
Pug Kennedy. They had seen little of him during the last few days, as,
owing to an infraction of the rules, he had spent some time in the
guardhouse. But now he was out.

“This way of throwing these lemons makes me tired!” exclaimed Pug. “Why
can’t I throw one like a baseball? I can make a better hit that way,
and I’m going to.”

Before any of his comrades could tell him not to disobey orders this
way, Pug suddenly threw a bomb. In making the underhand toss, his elbow
struck the edge of the trench, the grenade left his hand and fell a
few feet away, directly in front of a line of soldiers crouched in the
depression.

“Now look what you did!” yelled the corporal in charge of Pug’s squad.
“That’ll go off in a second or two!”

“Heads down, every one!” cried a lieutenant who had seen what had
happened.

The bomb, with the fuse set to explode it in a short time, lay on the
ground just outside the trench that was filled with young soldiers.
Pug’s recklessness had endangered all their lives.




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE STORM


There had been several accidents in camp, and just before Jerry, Bob
and Ned had arrived two men had been killed by the premature explosion
of a hand grenade. It was no wonder then, that, as the young soldiers
saw the instrument of death so near them, and realized that in another
moment the missiles might be hurled among them, fear clutched their
hearts.

“Down! Down!” shouted the lieutenant again, running along the wide
trench, in crouching fashion, to see that his command was enforced.
“Get down, every one!”

Only in this way could danger be in a measure averted, and yet the
explosion, so near at hand, might cave in the trench, burying the boys.

Not more than a second or two had passed since Pug, by his recklessness,
had created the danger, and yet it seemed like hours to some, as they
gazed with fascinated eyes at the bomb so near them. It needed only a
fraction more of time to bring about the explosion.

And yet in that fraction Jerry Hopkins acted. Before any one was aware
of his intention he had leaped up on the firing step of the trench, and
was out, with a shovel in his hand.

“What are you going to do?” yelled the lieutenant. “Come back! You’ll
be killed! That bomb’s going off!”

Jerry did not stop to answer. There was no time. Neither was there time
to argue over disobeying one’s superior officer. Jerry knew he had to
act quickly, and he did.

With one scoop of his shovel he picked the grenade up in it, and, with
the same motion, he sent the deadly missile hurtling over toward the
other trench, in which there were no soldiers stationed.

With all his strength, and as far as he could, Jerry hurled the
grenade, and it had no sooner landed in the other trench, far enough
away to be harmless to the practicing squad, than it exploded. Up in
the air flew a shower of earth and stones, a few particles reaching
Jerry, who was out of the trench, and some distance in advance of it.

For a moment after the echoes of the explosion died away there was
silence, and then came a ringing and spontaneous cheer. The soldier
lads realized that Jerry had saved the lives of some of them, and had
prevented many from severe injury.

“Great work, my boy! Well done!” cried the lieutenant, as Jerry dropped
back into the trench, and the officer shook hands with the tall lad.

“It was the only thing to do, that I could see,” Jerry explained. “I
didn’t want to pick the grenade up in my hand, but I thought I could
swing it out of the way with the shovel.”

“And you certainly did,” the lieutenant said. “As for you, Kennedy, I
saw how you threw that bomb. It was against orders. You have been told
to use the overhand swing, and because you did not you dropped the
grenade too close to the trench. It was a violation of orders and a
serious one. You may consider yourself under arrest.”

Pug received only what was due him, but the look he gave Jerry told
that lad he might look for some retaliation on the part of the bully.

“I wish they’d put him out of the army, or at least transfer him to
some other company,” said Bob, when the practice was over. “He does
nothing but make trouble for us!”

And it did seem so, from the very beginning.

Jerry’s action was officially noted, and he received public commendation
from the captain for his quick work in getting the grenade out of the
way.

Jerry’s action later received a more substantial recognition than mere
words, for he was made a corporal, being the first of the trio to gain
promotion. But Ned and Bob were glad, not jealous.

“Corporal, we salute you!” exclaimed Bob, when Jerry was made a
non-commissioned officer, and Chunky and Ned formally gave Jerry the
recognition due him.

“Oh, cut it out!” advised Jerry--unofficially. “I’m not going to be any
different.”

But Jerry found that he had to be just a little different. He was given
charge of a squad of seven men, including Bob and Ned, much to the
delight of the latter, and the young officer was supposed to look after
their welfare, in a way, and also instruct them.

“Well, I’m glad Pug Kennedy isn’t any longer in our squad,” Jerry said.
“We can sort of keep to ourselves now.”

As marching, next to actually firing shots at the enemy, forms the
principal work of a soldier, there were many drills devoted to this
work. The uses of the different formations were explained to the lads,
and they were put through many evolutions which seemed tiresome in
themselves, but which had certain objects in view.

Of course, on the battlefield, there is little chance for such marching
as is done on the drill ground. But there is always distance to go,
and sometimes in the quickest possible time, so the soldiers must be
hardened to marching under the most adverse circumstances.

To this end many hikes, or practice marches, were held. Sometimes the
whole regiment, sometimes only certain companies, and again only a
squad would be sent out.

It was one day, about two weeks after his promotion, that Corporal
Jerry Hopkins was ordered to take his squad out for an all-day hike
through the country. They were to take their rations with them, and
spend the day marching about.

It was not an aimless march, though, for it had an object. Jerry was
ordered to bring back a map of the route he took, marking the location
of houses, barns, wells, places where fodder might be had for horses,
sustenance for men, and the location of the roads.

This work is constantly being done by the army, so that the military
officials will have complete information about every part of our big
country, not only for use in times of peace, but in time of war, should
we ever be invaded by a foreign foe.

Behold then, early one morning, Ned, Bob and Jerry, the latter in
command, with four other men, ready for the practice hike.

“You will use your discretion, Corporal,” Captain Trainer had said to
Jerry. “If an emergency occurs, and you have to remain out all night,
seek the best shelter you can. You have your dog tents, and you have
rations enough until after breakfast to-morrow. If you should need
more you are empowered to requisition them, giving a proper receipt
for them, payment to be made later.”

“Yes, sir!”

Jerry saluted and marched his men down the road, not a little proud of
his mission.

There was nothing remarkable about the hike. Hundreds of other squads
had done the same thing, and had brought back good maps. Jerry wanted
to do the same.

Everything went well. They reached their objective, had supper, and
camped for the night. And then their troubles began. For no sooner were
they snug in their shelter tents than a violent storm came up, with
thunder and lightning, and two of the tents, low as they were, blew
over.

“Say, this is fierce!” exclaimed Bob, for the tent he and Ned were
under had gone down. “Can’t we find some other shelter?”

Jerry came out into the storm and darkness to look about. He realized
that he was responsible for the comfort of his men.




CHAPTER XXIX

IN THE OLD BARN


If there is one thing more than another which makes life in camp,
whether it be in the army or merely a pleasure excursion in the woods,
most miserable, it is rain. Snow does not seem so bad, but a soaking
rain seems not only to wet one through literally, but also mentally. It
depresses the spirits, though, in itself, a good rain is a blessing.

“I say, Corporal!” called Charles Hatton, one of the recruits out with
the hiking squad. “There’s an old barn not far off. I’ll be washed away
soon. We could go into that shack out of the rain, I should think.”

“I should think so, too,” agreed Jerry. “We’ll do it. I didn’t suppose
the storm would be as bad as this, or we’d have gone into the barn in
the first place. However, it isn’t too late, except that we’re already
wet through.”

“But we can dry out in there, and have a good night’s sleep,” said Bob,
who loved his creature comforts, including sleeping and eating.

Jerry gave the necessary orders. The dog tents were struck, those that
had blown down were recovered and, carrying their packs, the boys made
a rush through the storm for a somewhat dilapidated and seemingly
deserted barn which stood in a field, not far from the spot where camp
had first been made.

“Well, this is something like!” exclaimed Ned, as they entered the
structure. The swinging doors, sagging on their hinges, had not been
locked, but, even if they had been, Jerry felt he would have been
justified in breaking them open, agreeing to pay for the damage done,
as he was authorized to do.

“Well, there’s some hay I’m going to hit, as soon as I get dried out
a bit,” declared Bob, as he flashed his electric light on the mow. It
was not full, but enough hay remained to make a good bed for the tired
soldiers.

They had eaten their supper, and there was nothing to do but to
stretch out and wait for morning, when they would be warmed by hot
coffee which they could make for themselves. They carried a little
solidified-alcohol stove for this purpose.

The boys took off some of their wet garments and spread them out to
dry. Then they laid their blankets on the hay and prepared for a
better night’s rest than would have been possible under the tents,
even if it had not rained.

“This is something like,” said Ned, as Jerry went to see that the doors
were fastened, for, in a measure, he was responsible for the safety of
the property of whoever owned the old barn.

It was a very old one, and there seemed to be no house near it, but
then the boys could not see very well in the storm and the darkness,
and they were in a rolling country, so that the farmhouse might have
been down in one of the many hollows surrounding the barn.

The building leaked in places, and two of the young volunteers had to
move their blankets after they had spread them out, to avoid streams
of water that trickled down on them. But at last all were settled and
ready for the night’s repose.

There was no need of posting a sentry, so each one had his full rest.
Jerry fell asleep with the others. How long he slumbered he did not
know, but he was suddenly awakened by hearing, almost directly under
him, the sound of voices.

Though he awoke, Jerry did not immediately get up to see who it was. He
was not yet fully aroused. At first he thought it might be some of his
own squad, who had found themselves unable to sleep, and who hoped to
pass away the hours of the night in talk.

“But that won’t do,” thought Jerry. “If they want to gas they’ve got
to go somewhere else. We want to sleep.”

However, as he became more thoroughly awake, and listened more intently
to the talk, he realized that it was none of his friends.

The voices were those of men--three of them, evidently, to judge by the
different intonations--and they rose and fell in varying accents, the
murmur now becoming loud and again soft. And the men seemed very much
in earnest.

Jerry and his chums were sleeping in what had been the hay-mow, but the
mow was a double one. That is, there was a platform, built up about ten
feet above the barn floor, and this platform, the floor of which was of
closely-laid poles, served to support the hay, of which there was still
quite a layer there.

Below this was an open space, in which there was some straw. It was a
double mow, in other words, the upper part used for hay and the lower
for straw. In front of the two mows was an open space, forming the main
floor of the barn, on which stood some wagons and farm machinery, and
on the other side of this was another big mow, used evidently for the
storage of only one kind of farm produce, since it was not divided.

Unrolling himself from his blankets, and making as little disturbance
as possible in this operation, Jerry made his way to the edge of the
mow and looked down. It was ten feet to the barn floor, and there was
a ladder at one side, up which the boys had climbed.

Down below him, seated around a lantern, the glow of which was dimmed
by an old coat wrapped about it, Jerry saw three ragged and drenched
men.

“Tramps!” was his instant thought. “They came in here just as we did,
to get out of the rain.”

The rain was still coming down in torrents, as evidenced by the rattle
on the barn roof, and Jerry was about to crawl back and go to sleep
again, reasoning that the tramps had as much right in the barn as had
he and his squad, when something happened to make him change his plans.

One of the men by a quick motion accidentally disturbed the coat
shrouding the lantern, and a bright gleam shot out at one side. This
gleam revealed something that made Jerry start and catch his breath.

“Crooked Nose!” he exclaimed in a whisper, as he stared at one of the
three men gathered about the lantern. “There’s old Crooked Nose! And
this time we ought to catch him, sure!”

For a daring plan had instantly occurred to Jerry. He and his chums
could make prisoners of the three men, including the mysterious one who
had been seen in Cresville the night of the fire. Of course, in a way,
it was taking a risk, not only of bodily harm, but also because the
young soldiers had no right to detain the men, against only one of whom
was there any suspicion, and but slight suspicion at that.

“But we’ve got to get ’em and see what it all means,” decided Jerry. “I
wish I had a little more evidence to go on, though, and I wish I knew
who those other two were.”

“Easy with the light there,” growled the man with the crooked nose, as
he replaced the coat his companion had dislodged. “Do you want to bring
the farmer and his dogs down on us?”

“Nobody’ll be out such a night,” was the answer. “You’re too much
afraid. Freitlach!”

“Shut up!” exclaimed the other. “Didn’t I tell you not to use that
name? Don’t use any names.”

“Aw, don’t be so afraid!” taunted the third man--the one who had his
back toward Jerry. “You’re nervous.”

“And so would you be if you’d done what I have. If they catch me--” and
the man with the crooked nose looked apprehensively over his shoulder
into the dark shadows of the barn.

“That’s it; he’s too much afraid,” said the man with his back toward
Jerry. “He’s always afraid!”

“He’s afraid of too much,” sneered the man who had displaced the coat.
“He’s afraid to give us our share of the swag, and I want mine, too.
I’m tired of waiting. I want to have a settlement and get out. That’s
what I told you when we met to-night, and that’s what I’m going to
have. I’ve starved and begged long enough. Now I want my share!” and
he banged his fist on the loose boards of the barn floor, close to the
lantern, setting it to swaying so that the man with the crooked nose
exclaimed:

“Stop, you idiot! Do you want to set the place on fire?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first place we’ve burned,” declared the
other, but the words died on his lips as the other struck him across
the mouth.

“What does that mean?” demanded the man who had roused the ire of the
one with the crooked nose.

“It means to keep still! Do you want to blow the whole thing?”

“Might as well!” was the sullen answer. “I want my share. I don’t care
what happens after that. I’m going to skip out. I s’pose you’re going
to stay, Smelzer, until----”

“Never mind about me,” growled the man whose face Jerry could not see.
“Pug and I have some plans of our own. They’ve been busted up some, but
I guess we can carry ’em out somehow.”

“Well, I want my share,” went on the other, speaking to the one with
the mis-shapen nose. “I need the coin, and I’m going to have it. I did
my share of the work, and I want my share of the swag. When you got me
in on the scheme, Freit----”

“What’d I tell you about names?” fiercely demanded the crooked-nosed
man.

“Well, when you got me in on the scheme you said the Frenchman had a
pot of money, and a lot of jewelry, too.”

“So he did have!” declared Crooked Nose. “I got part of it. I admitted
that. But the biggest part is there yet. It may be in the ruins of the
fire----”

“Yes, the fire I set to give you a chance to get the coin!” broke in
the other. “Now I’m tired of fooling. Either I get half the money you
got from the old Frenchman, or I’ll go back to Cresville and see what I
can find in the fire ruins! I’m going to get something for the risk I
took. Give me half the money you got from the old man the night of the
fire, or I’ll squeal! That’s my last word!”




CHAPTER XXX

THE ROUND-UP


Jerry Hopkins, lying in the haymow and looking down at the men and
listening to them, could hardly believe his senses. At last it was all
clear to him. Before him was the crooked-nosed man who had been seen
in Cresville the night of the tenement house fire. And now, by his own
admission, there was the man who had set the blaze so the robbery could
be carried out with less fear of detection. As to the third man, Jerry
did not know what to think. His mention of “Pug” seemed to link him
with the bully, Kennedy, but this yet remained to be proved.

“Anyhow, I’m sure of one thing,” decided Jerry, as he looked back into
the dark mow, and could detect no movement that would indicate his
chums were awake. “Crooked Nose is the man who robbed old Mr. Cardon,
and the other chap is the one who set the fire. They’re both guilty
by their own admission. But where is his other money if these fellows
didn’t get it? And the brooch and the watch? I wonder if they could be
in the ruins?”

Jerry was thinking quickly. There was much to do if he hoped to capture
the three men and fasten their crimes on them. First he must awaken
some of his companions, and let them listen to the incriminating talk.

Jerry crawled to where his two friends were sleeping. He first
awakened Ned, and clapped a hand over his mouth to silence any sudden
exclamation of surprise.

“What is it?” Ned demanded.

“Crooked Nose!” whispered Jerry. “Keep still! I think we have them!”

Bob was harder to arouse, and inclined to make more noise, but at
length the three motor boys, leaving the other soldiers sleeping in the
hay, had crawled to the edge of the mow and were looking down on the
three men gathered about the shaded lantern. The discussion was still
going on.

“Why don’t you wait?” begged the crooked-nosed man, who had given his
name to Mr. Martin as Jim Waydell. “Why do you want to spoil things
now?” and he addressed the fellow who had displaced the coat, which had
been adjusted again, however. “Why don’t you wait?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting,” was the growled-out answer. “I want
some coin. I set the fire. You robbed the Frenchman. It was fifty-fifty
with the risk. Now let it be the same with the coin.”

“But I tell you I haven’t got much coin left,” declared Crooked Nose.
“We missed the biggest bunch of it, and what I got----”

“Give me half of what you got then!” growled the other.

“I can’t. I had to spend some----”

“Don’t talk so loud!” warned the man whose face was in the shadow.
“First thing you know some one may hear us, and then----” He shrugged
his shoulders, as though no words were necessary.

“Great Scott!” whispered Ned to Jerry. “Is it possible we have stumbled
on the very men we wanted?”

“More a case of them stumbling in on us,” Jerry answered. “Listen to
what they are saying.”

It was the same argument over again, one man demanding money and the
other trying to pacify him without giving it.

“What are we going to do?” whispered Ned.

“Get ’em, of course,” Jerry replied in the same low voice. “Do you
think we three can manage them alone--each one take a man?”

“Sure!” declared Ned. He and his chums were in excellent physical
condition, thanks to their army training.

“Well, then let’s jump on ’em. Take ’em by surprise,” advised the tall
lad. “We can slide down from the hay and grab ’em before they know
what’s up. We’ve heard enough to convict them now. It was the very
evidence we needed.”

“Better wake up the other fellows so they can stand by us in case of
trouble,” advised Bob, and this was decided on. While the two men
were still disputing, and their companion waited, Ned, Bob and Jerry
silently roused their sleeping comrades, briefly telling them what the
situation was.

“We’ll slide down and grab ’em,” said Jerry. “They don’t appear to be
armed, but if they are we’ll take ’em by surprise before they can get
their guns. You stand by with your rifles, fellows. I guess the sight
of the guns will be all that’s needed. All ready now?” he asked Ned and
Bob in a whisper.

[Illustration: “WE’LL SLIDE DOWN AND GRAB ’EM,” SAID JERRY.]

“All ready!”

The boys had drawn back to the far end of the haymow to make their
plans, so their whispers would not penetrate to the ears of the men.
But there was little danger of this, as the storm outside was making
too much noise.

The three chums from Cresville now worked their way to the edge of the
haymow. The men were still below them, Crooked Nose and his companion
angrily arguing, while the other man had risen. For the first time
Jerry and his chums had a glimpse of the face.

“I’ve seen him somewhere before,” decided Jerry.

But there was no time then for such speculation. The men must be caught.

Poised on the very edge of the haymow, Jerry and his chums waited a
moment. They were going to jump down the ten feet and rush at the men.
There was a litter of straw below them which would break the force of
their leap.

“Go!” suddenly whispered Jerry.

Three bodies shot over the edge of the haymow, landing with a thud on
the barn floor. The men, hearing the noise and feeling the concussion,
turned quickly. A sudden motion of one again displaced the coat over
the lantern, so that the scene was well lighted.

“They’ve got us!” yelled Crooked Nose, and he made a rush, but Jerry
Hopkins caught him in his long arms.

“Get out the way!” shouted the man who had been begging for a division
of the spoils, as he headed for Ned like a football player trying to
avoid a tackle. But Ned was used to such tactics. He downed his man
hard, the thud shaking the barn.

Bob did not have such luck. His man crashed full into him, knocked Bob
to one side and then disappeared in some dark recess of the barn.
Chunky, somewhat dazed, rose slowly and tried to follow.

Meanwhile Jerry and Ned were struggling with the two men they had
caught. The outcome was in doubt, for the prisoners were desperate.
But the advent of the other soldiers sliding down from the haymow with
rifles ready for use, soon settled the matter.

“Surrender!” sharply ordered Jerry.

“Guess we’ll have to,” sullenly agreed the crooked-nosed man.

“Now find the other fellow,” Jerry ordered, when the men had been tied
with ropes, which had been found in the barn.

But this was more easily said than done. Using the lantern and their
electric searchlights the boys hunted through the barn, but the third
man was not to be found.

“He got away,” said Bob regretfully.

“Oh, don’t worry,” returned Jerry consolingly. “We got the two main
ones, anyhow. And maybe these fellows will have something on them to
tell who the other fellow was.”

The prisoners did not answer, but they looked uncomfortable.

“Well, this is a good night’s work,” declared Jerry, when he and his
chums had a chance to talk matters over. “We’ve got the robber and the
firebug, and I guess we can help get back most of the Frenchman’s
money and maybe the gold watch and the diamond brooch. They are back in
the fire ruins, I imagine.”

By turns Ned, Bob and Jerry explained to their companions the reason
for capturing Crooked Nose and the other man, relating the story of the
fire in Cresville some months back.

There was little sleep for any one the rest of that night. A guard was
posted over the two prisoners, when a search had failed to reveal the
missing third man, and in the morning, after a hasty breakfast in the
old barn, the march back to camp was made. The storm was over.

There was some surprise when Jerry and his chums returned with their
prisoners. Captain Trainer, when he heard the story, had the men locked
up in the guardhouse until the civil authorities could be communicated
with, as the crime was not a military one.

And, a little later, Hans Freitlach, _alias_ Jim Waydell, the
crooked-nosed man, and Fritz Lebhach, his companion, were safely in
jail, and some papers found on them disclosed their real identity.

They were German spies, being members of a band that had for its object
the destruction of munition plants and warehouses and factories, where
war goods for our government and the Allies were being stored and made.
They had set a number of fires, it was learned afterward, though the
one in Cresville had been a personal matter, designed to get hold of
the old Frenchman’s money. After that crime Freitlach and Lebhach had
fled, agreeing to meet later in the South, as they did, much to their
own discomfort.

“And who do you think that other man was--the one that bowled Bob
over?” asked Jerry, rushing excitedly up to his chums a few days after
the men had been sent to Cresville to await trial.

“Haven’t an idea, unless he was some football star,” Chunky ruefully
answered, remembering his failure to tackle.

“He was Pug Kennedy’s step-father!” was the unexpected information
Jerry gave.

“Pug Kennedy’s step-father!” exclaimed Ned and Bob.

“Yes. His name is Meyer, and he’s another German spy, and so is Pug.
Meyer masqueraded as an Irishman, for he had been pals with an Irish
prize-fighter for some years.”

“And was it his father Pug sneaked out to meet at night?” asked Ned.

“Yes,” answered Jerry. “Since Pug has deserted the whole story has come
out. His father was another spy, and his particular work was to make
trouble in camps--set fire to storehouses, quartermasters’ depots and
the like. Pug was going to help him, and that’s why he enlisted--the
rotten traitor! But he’s gone, and the Secret Service men hope to catch
them both.”

A week later came back word from Cresville that filled the young
soldiers with keen satisfaction. The ashes of the tenement house fire
had been thoroughly searched and an iron box belonging to the French
engraver had been recovered. It contained a large part of the old man’s
money and also Mr. Baker’s gold watch.

“I’m glad dad has his watch back,” said Bob. “But what about the
diamond brooch belonging to Jerry’s mother?”

“Maybe they’ll get that later,” said Jerry hopefully.

And they did, although not in the manner expected. The doings of the
crooked-nosed man were minutely investigated, and it was finally
learned where he had left the brooch with a pawn-broker for a small
amount--thinking to get it out of pawn later on and sell it, when it
might be safe to do so. The authorities took charge of the valuable
piece of jewelry, and it was finally turned over to Mrs. Hopkins, much
to her delight.

The thief and the firebug received long terms in state’s prison--terms
which were richly deserved.

As for Pug, the military authorities made a search for him after his
desertion, which followed the capture of the two men, but he was not
found. It was surmised that his step-father got word to him, somehow,
after the former’s escape from the barn, that the game was up, and that
Pug had better flee. So he did.

The crooked-nosed man and his companion both declared that Pug and his
father helped plot the Cresville fire, and wanted to have a share in
the proceeds of the robbery. Whether this was true or not could not be
learned.

It was learned that Mr. Cardon had, at one time, done some business
with Crooked Nose, as it is easier to call him than using one of his
many false names. But the unscrupulous one had cheated the Frenchman,
and then, later, using the knowledge he had of his wealth and habits,
had tried to rob him, getting a confederate to set the fire. The
men had gone South after the Cresville crimes because Pug was sent
there, and they wanted to keep in touch with him. But, thanks to
the activities of Ned, Bob and Jerry, the gang’s operations were
successfully broken up.

To the barracks, where Ned, Bob and Jerry were sitting and talking,
there penetrated the clear notes of a bugle.

“What’s that--another drill?” asked Ned, starting up.

“The mail has come,” interpreted Jerry.

“Oh, boy!” yelled Bob, making a rush for the door.

A little later all three were reading letters and looking over papers
from home.

“Good news, Chunky?” asked Ned, as he saw a smile light up his stout
chum’s face.

“Surest thing you know!” was the answer. “Helena writes to say that her
father has changed his views, and that they’re both real Americans now.
She says she likes me better than ever for being in the army and----
Oh, I didn’t mean to read that!” and Bob blushed. “It was something
about the Red Cross I was going to tell you.”

“Go to it, Bob!” laughed Jerry. “Helena’s all right!”

It was that evening, in the free period between the last mess and taps,
that a cheering was heard in a distant part of the camp.

“What’s that?” asked Jerry of his two friends.

“Maybe they’ve caught Pug Kennedy,” suggested Ned.

“I hope it’s better news than that,” Jerry remarked.

“It is,” Bob informed them, when he came back from a hasty trip of
inquiry. “We’ve received orders to move.”

“Move? Move where?”

“Over there!”

A cheer from his chums interrupted Bob’s words, and for some time
there was such confusion that any connected story of it was out of the
question.

But those of you who wish to follow the further fortunes of Ned, Bob
and Jerry may read of other adventures that befell them in the next
volume of this series entitled, “The Motor Boys on the Firing Line, or,
Ned, Bob and Jerry Fighting for Uncle Sam.”

“Well, we put in quite a summer, didn’t we?” observed Jerry to his
chums one day, as they came back from a practice hike. “We had some
lively times.”

“And we may have more,” added Ned. “I just had a letter from Professor
Snodgrass. He says he’s coming on another bug-hunting trip. I’m going
to tell the captain to warn the sentries not to shoot when they see a
bald head.”

“That’s the idea!” laughed Jerry. And while the motor boys are talking
over their various adventures we will take leave of them.


THE END




THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES

BY LESTER CHADWICK

_12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid_


[Illustration]

  BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS
  _or The Rivals of Riverside_

Joe is an everyday country boy who loves to play baseball and
particularly to pitch.


  BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
  _or Pitching for the Blue Banner_

Joe’s great ambition was to go to boarding school and play on the
school team.


  BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
  _or Pitching for the College Championship_

Joe goes to Yale University. In his second year he becomes a varsity
pitcher and pitches in several big games.


  BASEBALL JOE IN THE CENTRAL LEAGUE
  _or Making Good as a Professional Pitcher_

In this volume the scene of action is shifted from Yale college to a
baseball league of our Central States.


  BASEBALL JOE IN THE BIG LEAGUE
  _or A Young Pitcher’s Hardest Struggles_

From the Central League Joe is drafted into the St. Louis Nationals. A
corking baseball story all fans will enjoy.


  BASEBALL JOE ON THE GIANTS
  _or Making Good as a Twirler in the Metropolis_

How Joe was traded to the Giants and became their mainstay in the box
makes an interesting baseball story.


  BASEBALL JOE IN THE WORLD SERIES
  _or Pitching for the Championship_

The rivalry was of course of the keenest, and what Joe did to win the
series is told in a manner to thrill the most jaded reader.


  BASEBALL JOE AROUND THE WORLD
  _or Pitching on a Grand Tour_

The Giants and the All-Americans tour the world, playing in many
foreign countries.


  BASEBALL JOE: HOME RUN KING
  _or The Greatest Pitcher and Batter on Record_

Joe cultivates his handling of the bat until he becomes the greatest
batter in the game.


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THE KHAKI BOYS SERIES

BY CAPT. GORDON BATES

_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full color._

_=Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid=_


[Illustration]

_True-to-life stories of the camp and field in the great war._


  1. THE KHAKI BOYS AT CAMP STERLING
     _or Training for the Big Fight in France_

Two zealous young patriots volunteer and begin their military training.
Together they get into a baffling camp mystery.


  2. THE KHAKI BOYS ON THE WAY
     _or Doing Their Bit on Sea and Land_

Our soldier boys having completed their training at Camp Sterling are
transferred to a Southern cantonment from which they are finally sent
aboard a troopship for France.


  3. THE KHAKI BOYS AT THE FRONT
     _or Shoulder to Shoulder in the Trenches_

The Khaki Boys reach France, and, after some intensive training in
sound of the battle front, are sent into the trenches.


  4. THE KHAKI BOYS OVER THE TOP
     _or Doing and Daring for Uncle Sam_

A spirited tale, telling how the brave soldier boys went over the top
in the face of a fierce fire from the enemy.


  5. THE KHAKI BOYS FIGHTING TO WIN
     _or Smashing the German Lines_

Another great war story, showing how the Khaki Boys did their duty as
fighters for Uncle Sam under tremendous difficulties.


  6. THE KHAKI BOYS ALONG THE RHINE
     _or Winning the Honors of War_

Telling of the march to the Rhine, crossing into Germany and of various
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THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES

BY LESTER CHADWICK

_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors_

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[Illustration]

_Mr. Chadwick has played on the diamond and on the gridiron himself._


  1. THE RIVAL PITCHERS
     _A Story of College Baseball_

Tom Parsons, a “hayseed,” makes good on the scrub team of Randall
College.


  2. A QUARTERBACK’S PLUCK
     _A Story of College Football_

A football story, told in Mr. Chadwick’s best style, that is bound to
grip the reader from the start.


  3. BATTING TO WIN
     _A Story of College Baseball_

Tom Parsons and his friends Phil and Sid are the leading players on
Randall College team. There is a great game.


  4. THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN
     _A Story of College Football_

After having to reorganize their team at the last moment, Randall makes
a touchdown that won a big game.


  5. FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL
     _A Story of College Athletics_

The winning of the hurdle race and long-distance run is extremely
exciting.


  6. THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
     _A Story of College Water Sports_

Tom, Phil and Sid prove as good at aquatic sports as they are on track,
gridiron and diamond.


  _Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_

  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers      New York




THE JACK RANGER SERIES

BY CLARENCE YOUNG

_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors_

_=Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid=_


[Illustration]

_Lively stories of outdoor sports and adventure every boy will want to
read._


  1. JACK RANGER’S SCHOOLDAYS
     _or The Rivals of Washington Hall_

You will love Jack Ranger--you simply can’t help it. He is bright and
cheery, and earnest in all he does.


  2. JACK RANGER’S WESTERN TRIP
     _or From Boarding School to Ranch and Range_

This volume takes the hero to the great West. Jack is anxious to clear
up the mystery surrounding his father’s disappearance.


  3. JACK RANGER’S SCHOOL VICTORIES
     _or Track, Gridiron and Diamond_

Jack gets back to Washington Hall and goes in for all sorts of school
games. There are numerous contests on the athletic field.


  4. JACK RANGER’S OCEAN CRUISE
     _or The Wreck of the Polly Ann_

How Jack was carried off to sea against his will makes a “yarn” no boy
will want to miss.


  5. JACK RANGER’S GUN CLUB
     _or From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail_

Jack organizes a gun club and with his chums goes in quest of big game.
They have many adventures in the mountains.


  6. JACK RANGER’S TREASURE BOX
     _or The Outing of the Schoolboy Yachtsmen_

Jack receives a box from his father and it is stolen. How he regains it
makes an absorbing tale.


  _Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_

  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers      New York




 Transcriber’s Notes:

 --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
   bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).

 --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

 --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

 --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

 --The author’s em-dash and long dash styles have been retained.






End of Project Gutenberg's The Motor Boys in the Army, by Clarence Young