Gently and softly Bill let himself down on the grass. Eddie sat transfixed. Slowly the pop bottle from which he had been drinking tilted over and the precious fluid trickled out.
“Those queer sort of kiddish ones,” said Eddie finally.
“It might be,” granted Dee.
The boys were silent, thinking, when a loud explosion rent the air. Dust rose behind the houses over by the Home, across the Park. Somewhere a woman screamed shrilly. Men yelled, and with a little yelp Eddie came to himself and streaked down the street after the long legged Bill and Dee.
A street car had ventured out of the barn and the track before it had been blown up.
“This thing has got to stop,” exclaimed Eddie as they walked slowly back home, “Do you know the telephone operators are going to walk out tomorrow?”
“No street cars and no telephones! Nice sort of things!” said Bill.
“Let’s go up to the club room, and see if we can pick up Ernest Beezley. He would like to hear about things if he is in camp tonight.”
“I know he is,” said Bill. “He is on duty all this week. They are making a lot of changes over there. Knox is a permanent camp now, you know.”
Dee went to the instrument and soon the invisible feelers were reaching, reaching far out into the darkness. Once in touch with Knox, they soon were talking with Ernest, who was indeed glad to hear all the news.