“Souvenirs, of course! From your latest victory. Cowan and I decided to go over to the hospital and run through the chap’s pockets to see if we could find anything that should be sent back to Intelligence. Darned if Siddons wasn’t there ahead of us, getting ready to fill his pockets with your souvenirs. I told him to wait until he bagged his own game. So there you are–cups, belts and badges!”
101McGee gathered up the articles, one by one, and handed them back to Mullins.
“Take them back,” he ordered, somewhat firmly.
“What!” Mullins’ jaw dropped. “You don’t want ’em?”
“No.”
“Not even one–for luck?”
“No. I’ve never carried anything that belonged to the other fellow, for luck. Take them back.”
Yancey stepped forward, but he was still behind the soft-voiced Edouard Fouche, who said:
“I’ll take them, then. I’m not so high-minded about it.”
Tex Yancey pawed Fouche aside as a bear might sweep aside an annoying puppy. “Out of the way, little fellow. We’ll divide these spoils of war–or we’ll draw for ’em. Everyone to draw straws.”