“Gosh,” said Beany, “I sure do hope he didn’t get his! Perhaps this just fell out of his pocket.”
“Why didn’t he sign it?” demanded the practical Porky.
“Well, I suppose he didn’t have a hunch we would want his address,” said Beany. “I’m going to keep this and send it back home to one of the papers. They will be glad to copy the picture of the fat little geezer, and p’raps it will get back to his folks.”
The boys wandered on. Coming from a country rich in magnificent old maples and elms, the ruin, so cowardly and so ruthless, of the great trees seemed one of the most terrible aspects of the war. Not only were they torn by shells, but mile after mile stood dead and dying from the effects of the gas attacks of the enemy. The gas seemed to be as fatal to the trees as it was to human beings. Not only had the leaves curled up and fallen, but the trunks themselves were blackened and dead looking. It was like a country in a nightmare, everything in the way of buildings flat on the ground, literally not one stone left on another. The dead and dying trees, leafless and twisted, let the sunshine down upon it all with scarce a shadow.
The boys reached the site of what had evidently once been a fine farm. It was a total ruin. They went clambering over the loose heaped-up stones of what had once been a fine old dwelling, and sat down for a moment on a flat block that had made the broad and generous doorstep.
“Gee, this must have been an old place,” said Porky. “See the way the edge of this stone is worn—and it is granite at that.”
“Look at the size of it, too,” said Beany.
They sat studying the stone when a faint feeble wail was heard. They looked at each other, startled.
“Aw, gee, there’s a kitten shut up some place,” said Beany, jumping up. “Let’s find it.”
“Sure we will,” said Porky, “but we can’t take it along. I don’t suppose General Pershing would want to add a cat to his traveling party.”