The long night passed. Sentries were changed, a watch was kept to forestall any attack on the part of the Germans, but none came. Save for the occasional clash of a night patrol, or the false alarm of some one on listening post, there was little action during the hours preceding the great offensive.
Their tour of duty ended, Ned, Bob, and Jerry sought rest in the dugout. There, with but few more comforts than in the trenches, they waited until the time should come again for them to go out and take a “mud bath,” as Ned called it.
For it rained often, and the trenches never seemed to dry. Still at this stage of the war there were more comforts for the men on the firing line than when France and England first opposed the advance of the gray hordes.
“When does the big show start?” asked Ned, as he and his chums came out of the dugout for a 205 few hours’ stay farther behind the lines. “I thought the bombardment was to begin this morning.”
“Must be delayed for some reason,” said Jerry with a yawn. “Come on, let’s go somewhere and sit down. We’ll know when it’s time for the shindig to start.”
“Let’s see if we can find the professor,” suggested Bob. “We may have hard work to get word to him after the fighting begins.”
This seemed a good plan, and it was followed. Professor Snodgrass was billeted temporarily in a farmhouse on the edge of a little French village near which the boys were on duty. Thither they went, and found their friend poring over books and papers.
“Well, how goes it?” asked Jerry, after they had all shaken hands.
“Well, indeed,” was the answer. “I have not yet found the young ladies, but I expect to, soon. I have heard that Mr. Schmouder, the father of the janitor, who was looking after them, and who knew something of their plans, moved from his home town, outside of Metz, lately, and started farther back into Germany.”
“Then I should think it would be harder than ever for you to trace them,” suggested Ned.