“I suppose so,” agreed Ned; “but it’s too bad.”
It was, but there was nothing they could do. The professor might wander into the enemy’s territory and be captured, or he might come safely back to the little French village.
“Though if he doesn’t come back what are we to do with his things and about Professor Petersen’s nieces?” asked Ned.
“The best we can,” advised Jerry.
“After the war, if we’re alive, we can look for the girls,” suggested Bob.
“Pretty slim chance of finding ’em,” murmured Ned.
“It wouldn’t do much good, anyway, if we can’t find the professor. The money was not left to us to divide,” was Jerry’s comment.
Jerry had spoken truly when he said that all leave had been stopped, for now were beginning the final great assaults of the American and Allied armies that were, if not actually to overwhelm the Huns, at least to approach so nearly that state that there was a distinction without a difference. 220
And it was well that Ned, Bob, and Jerry returned to their station when they did, for not ten minutes later the general order to move forward was given up and down the long line.
“Forward!” was the battle cry—the watchword that was to guide them all. “Forward!”