But the boys never felt it monotonous, nor did they complain of the hard work. They knew it 72 was necessary, and here on the very fighting ground itself—in wonderful France—there was a greater incentive to apply oneself to the mastering of the lessons of the war.
Then, too, they saw or heard at first hand of the indescribable cruelties and atrocities of the Huns. Ned, Bob, Jerry, and their comrades saw with what fervor the French and British were proceeding with the war, and their own spirits were inflamed.
No work was too hard for them, from learning to throw hand grenades, taught by men who had had them thrown at them, to digging trenches laid out after the fashion of those on either side of No Man’s Land. Then came small sham engagements, when, imagining the sample trenches to be held by Germans, a company would storm them to drive out the “enemy.”
In fair and rainy weather this work went on, and it rained more often than not, as Jerry wrote home to his mother. The chums could write, but there was no telling when the missives would be delivered, nor when they would get any in return, for there was such congestion that the mail service broke down at times, and no wonder. So, though eventually the home folks—and in them is included “the girls”—got all the mail intended for them, there were days of anxious waiting.
Meanwhile the Motor Boys were perfecting 73 themselves as soldiers, and were winning the commendation of their officers. Jerry was promoted to be first corporal, and in his squad of seven were Ned and Bob, much to their delight.
“It’s a pleasure to take orders from you, old man,” said Ned.
“Well, I won’t give any more than I have to,” remarked the tall lad, now taller and more bronzed than ever.
Professor Snodgrass had managed to find quarters in a village not far from camp, and from there he came to see the boys occasionally. He was getting his affairs in shape to proceed with the study of the matter at present under his attention.
“Have you heard anything from Miss Petersen or Miss Gibbs?” asked Jerry.
“No, not a word,” was the answer. “I have sent several letters, and made inquiries of the authorities here, but the latter give me very little encouragement. That’s bad, too; for I’ve just had word from home that makes my share in that inheritance seem of more importance than ever,” and the professor gave a little sigh.