THE BOMBARDMENT OF PARIS
"There, Jack! what did I tell you? I win! You lose, and it's me for a fine dinner at your expense! You lose! Do you hear?"
Tom Raymond, with a hearty laugh, clapped his chum on the shoulder, and seemed mirthfully excited over something. As for Jack Parmly he looked first at his chuckling comrade and then at the man he suspected of being a German spy. The latter, who had glanced keenly at the boys, with something akin to anger on his face, now was plainly puzzled.
"Do you understand?" demanded Tom in a loud voice, which attracted the attention of many in the car. But a look at the two, showing them to be Americans and, therefore, to the French mind, capable of any eccentricity, seemed to make matters right. Most of the diners resumed their meals.
"See what I mean, Jack?" went on Tom. "You lose! Understand?"
"No, I don't understand," was the low-voiced and somewhat puzzled answer.
"Then for the sake of your gasolene tank pretend that you do!" fiercely whispered Tom in his chum's ear. "Play up to my game! Don't you see that fellow's suspicious of us? He thinks we've been talking about him. I win, do you understand?"
"Oh, yes," answered Jack, and then, in a louder tone, intended to allay suspicion on the part of the suspect, he added: "You win all right, Tom! I'll buy the dinner. I didn't think the train would get in so soon! It's one on me all right!"
And then, laughing and talking in seeming carelessness, as though they had not a thought in the world but the friendly wager they had made, they went back to their coach.
"That was a narrow squeak," observed Tom. "He was getting suspicious all right, and in another moment might have made an indignant demand of the guard that we cease observing him. It might have made trouble for us. We're not members of the secret police, remember."