“But it’s queer,” murmured Jerry, as he and his chums arose from a bench where they had been sitting on the edge of Cresville’s only park—the place designated as a meeting place when Jerry had received a letter which was destined to play a momentous part in the lives of the Motor Boys.
“What’s queer?” Ned Slade wanted to know.
“How Bob happened to pick out the three lines in Tinny’s letter that had to do with eating,” Jerry resumed. “The most unimportant part of the whole business, and yet Bob spots it like—like——”
“Like a hawk after a chicken,” supplied Ned, when he saw his tall chum at a loss for a simile.
“Thanks,” murmured Jerry.
“Think you’re a regular moving-picture-art-title writer, don’t you?” mumbled Bob. “All right—go on—poke all the fun you want. But if you fellows get out to Thunder Mountain—or whatever the place is—and starve to death, don’t blame me.”
“We aren’t likely to—not if we die of hunger,” said Ned. “But if we go, won’t you come with us?”
“I don’t know—maybe.” Bob was not quite restored to his usual good-natured self after the bantering to which he had been subjected.
“Well, let’s go!” cried Jerry, and the words recalled vividly to the minds of his chums how often those same words were used when they were in France during the World War.
“Is that you, Jerry?” called Mrs. Hopkins, when a little later she heard the tramp of feet in her hall—feet that unconsciously fell into the swing of a military march.