THE MOTOR BOYS,
NED, BOB AND JERRY
BOUND FOR HOME
[CHAPTER I]
TURNING BACK
Slowly and ponderously the United States transport, Sherman, moved out of the maze of boats that had clustered about her at the Brest dock. With ever-gathering speed she thrust her prow into the rippling water, leaving behind, on the wharf, cheering hundreds of Uncle Sam’s boys who envied the lot of their fellows in thus sailing for home after the Great War. Mingled with the resonant voices of the Americans were the shriller notes of their French comrades, who were bidding God-speed to their allied comrades.
“Well, we’re really off at last,” remarked a tall, bronzed youth, speaking to some of his chums who leaned over the rail with him, waving to friends on the wharf.
“Yes, Jerry,” remarked a rather stout khaki-clad soldier lad, “off at last. And now that the captain can dispense with my valuable services in warping the ship away from the dock—I believe warping is the proper word—I’m going to look——”
“For the kitchen!” interrupted a third member of the little group clustered about the lad called Jerry, who wore on his coat the D. S. C. of valor. “Isn’t that what you were going to say, Bob?”