“Black Jack” Pershing scowled.
“What’s the matter with the Americans?” he demanded. “I’ve a million of them over here and there are more coming. They’ve been here for months and have done practically nothing and they want to know why. What’s the matter with the Americans, sir?”
Marshal Foch shrugged his shoulders and elevated his hands.
“But, sir,” he protested, “they are untrained, unseasoned, raw troops. Surely you cannot expect them to stand against the enemy’s veterans. It would be suicide.”
“I agree with Marshal Foch,” Marshal Haig interposed. “It is true they have proven their mettle wherever they have gone into action, but they have not had the training.”
An angry light gleamed in General Pershing’s eyes.
“They’ll go any place you order ’em, sir. I’ll stake my reputation on that,” he thundered.
A hush of expectancy fell over the room. The air was surcharged with excitement.
In spite of the feeling of pride at his commander’s words, Hal felt a thrill of fear shoot through him. Was it possible that the heads of the Allied armies were about to quarrel?
But Hal need not have worried. Men like these did not indulge in foolish quarrels. They spoke strongly because they felt strongly, and each realized that the other was advancing views that he considered best.