“Well,” said McHugh, “I didn’t enlist to come over here and entertain the Boche, but if it’ll do that chap out there any good, why count me in.”
“Very good,” said Hal. He raised his voice. “Still there, Fritz?”
“Yah! What have you decided?”
“He’ll sing for you. But we’ll hold you to your word.”
“Good,” said the German. “Let him stand up on the top of the trench so we can see.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Fritz,” Hal shouted back. “We’re on to your tricks.”
“But it is no trick,” the German protested. “We give our words.”
“Your word is not always to be trusted, Fritz.”
“But me,” said the voice. “I am Hans Loeder, who sang on the American stage. I give the word of an artist.”
“By Jove, sir!” ejaculated McHugh at this juncture. “I know him well. In Chicago I once took lessons from him.”