“Well, hardly,” Hal broke in, “but I’ll wager you didn’t go out there to have a shot at a Boche.”
“Come, Mr. Stubbs,” said Chester, “tell us just why you were in that shell hole.”
“I was in that hole,” said Stubbs, “because the managing editor of the New York Gazette said he wanted a good descriptive story of a battle. I figured that a shell hole was as good a place as any to see what was going on.”
“Still a newspaper man, then, Stubbs?” said Hal.
“You bet.”
“I thought you had gone out of that business,” said Chester. “I remember finding you in Berlin once on a mission that had nothing to do with a newspaper.”
“Oh, well, a fellow likes to help out once in a while,” rejoined Stubbs modestly.
“Then why don’t you shoulder a gun, Stubbs?” demanded Hal.
“Look here,” said Stubbs angrily. “I’m getting good and tired of having you fellows pick on me all the time. I haven’t joined out because, in the first place, I’m no fighter. I’m of a great deal more value in this war in my present capacity. There are enough young men to do the fighting. I’m trying to keep the folks back home in touch with what you’re doing. And you can believe me or not, they are glad to be kept in touch.”
“I’ve no doubt of it, Mr. Stubbs,” said Hal with a smile. “Never mind, we won’t pester you any more for a while.”