“He’ll be back in line again in three weeks,” declared the surgeon to Ned and Bob, and those were the happiest words they ever had heard.
The next morning, after a feverish night in which they slept but little, they were allowed to 158 see Jerry, and they found him in better condition, relatively, than themselves. For he had been given a bath and cleaned after his wounds were dressed, whereas Ned and Bob were still caked with the mud, dirt, and grime of battle. But it was honorable dirt, as a Japanese might say. Most honorable and cherished.
“Well, how about you, old man?” asked Ned, as the Red Cross nurse said they might talk a little to their injured chum.
“Oh, I’m all right. Feel fine! Just knocked out a little. Save a few Huns for me for the next rush.”
“Oh, we’ll do that all right,” agreed Bob. “Too bad you had to get yours just as we won the game.”
“We won it, so I hear,” observed Jerry.
“Yes, cleaned ’em up,” went on Ned. “And whom do you guess we caught in the last batch of prisoners?”
“Not Professor Snodgrass!”
“No. But some one who knows him. Nick Schmouder!” exploded Bob.
“What? Not the janitor at Boxwood Hall? The fellow who helped us get the goat upstairs into the physics class?”