“Did they really make him come over to France after all?”
“Do you really mean to say you met Nat Poole?” demanded Roger.
“Yes. At the hospital where I was staying—just before I came away.” And then our hero gave some of the particulars. He did not at that time mention Lieutenant Max Gebauer except in a general way, for he did not wish to drag Jessie’s name into the discussion which he knew would follow.
“Gee, but that’s rich—Nat Poole getting whacked over the wrist with a frying-pan!” chuckled Phil. “I wish I had been there to see it.”
“And fancy Nat pitching into the cook for having done it!” said Buster. “I suppose he went up and shook his forefinger in the cook’s face and said: ‘You naughty boy! You are real rude, don’t you know!’” he mimicked, and at this there was a roar of laughter.
“Well, there is one thing certain,” remarked Ben. “The army will either make a man of Nat or he’ll be about half-killed, even if he doesn’t get shot.”
“Fancy Nat’s wanting to be an officer!” broke in Phil.
“I must say I am mighty thankful for one thing,” announced our hero. “And that is that Nat didn’t attempt to join the engineers. I would consider it an awful hardship to have him around all the time.”
“You never said anything truer than that, Dave,” returned Ben.
That night there was quite a celebration in one corner of the large dugout where the company to which Dave belonged was quartered. All the good things purchased by Phil and Ben in the neighboring French town were brought forth, and it may be surmised that all the young engineers did full justice to the “eats” set before them.