It was after a hard day in the trenches, practice at bayonet drill, and hand grenade throwing that Bob came into the Y. M. C. A. canteen where Jerry and Ned had preceded him and asked:
“Did you see the notice?”
“What notice?” inquired Jerry.
“Is Pug Kennedy going to be transferred?” Ned demanded.
“Nothing doing,” announced Bob, as he slumped into a chair. He had lost considerable flesh and looked the better for it.
“Well, what is it?” some one asked. “Has Germany given up the war?”
“I hope not until we get a chance to have a whack at her!” exclaimed Jerry. “But shoot, Bob! What is it?”
“We’re going to have a practice march,” was the answer. “There’s just been a notice posted about it. We’re to go in heavy marching order, across country, and live just as we would if we were in an enemy’s land.”
“That’s the cheese!” cried Ned. “We can live a sort of free and easy life.”
“Don’t you fool yourself, son,” said an older man. “I’ve been on these practice marches before. How are your feet?”