“He said he might possibly join us on this transport,” said Bob. “And he may be here, for all we know. Looks as if everybody I ever met in France is on board.”
“Not that pretty little girl with the black hair and brown eyes you were so fond of in the restaurant—she isn’t here, is she?” asked Jerry.
“Oh, cut it out!” growled Bob. “You know what I mean.”
“But did she know what you meant?” asked Ned pointedly. “You know you never could get the hang of the French words, and she used to rip them out like a drygoods clerk tearing off a yard of muslin.”
“Say, if you fellows think I’m going to rustle grub for you, and then have you insult me, you’ve got another guess and a half coming!” cried Bob hotly—so hotly, in fact, that Jerry quickly interposed.
“That’s all right, Bob,” he said quietly, laying a cautioning hand on Ned’s shoulder. “We two were just as fond of Marie as you were, only she seemed to take more of a notion to you than she did to us.”
This admission apparently brightened Bob visibly, and his anger slowly died away.
“And, going back to the original subject,” said Ned, “did either of you see the professor?”
They had not, they admitted.
“Well, we’re not likely to hear from him until we get across, then,” decided Bob.