"Why, we will write you what she says if you will let us, sir," Porky volunteered.
"She will be crazy over Bill and Peggy," added Beany, looking fondly after the car vanishing with their new possessions.
"Beel ant Pekky!" groaned the Frenchman.
"Wee, Mussoo, we have named them already," said Porky proudly. "We know they have some other names, kind of names, they were registered under, but that kid has to have something easy to yell at him when he makes a home run, and Beany picked on Peggy right off."
"That about settles it," laughed the General. "We must be off if we reach our first sector by nightfall."
CHAPTER XI
WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT
It was nine o'clock when they reached the first post of observation in their journey, an outpost on the top of a densely wooded hill where they were to remain as long as the General wished to stay. It was a splendid post of observation. A vast battle-torn valley stretched below them for miles and miles. From their vantage point they could see it brilliantly lighted at short intervals by the flares of the enemy. The flares lit the trenches—black, ragged gashes running along the earth—and beyond, where the awful desolation of No-Man's-Land stretched, peopled only with its dead. Seen with field glasses, the plain drew near and they could see the torn surface and the tumbled groups here and there. A great battle had been fought and both sides were resting. Rest was absolutely necessary. The Allies had advanced three miles, pushing back a foe that stubbornly contested every step of the way. The Germans had brought vast numbers of reserves into action but even then the whirlwind tactics and savage rushes of their oversea foe had driven them back rod by rod.
Porky and Beany looked on and trembled with excitement. There ahead, hidden in the darkness, were the Huns. There were the barbarians who had shown a civilized world how men can slip back into worse than savagery. Wasted lands, ruined homes, orphaned and mutilated little children, butchered old people. All the unspeakable horrors of war trooped through the boys' minds, a hideous train of ghosts, as they looked across the valley. Ahead lay the heartless and ruthless killers, wolves that had come to worry and tear the sheep, but behind in the darkness, the boys knew with a thrill, every possible mode of transportation was swiftly bringing up the reserve American troops, thousands and thousands of them; men in their prime and beardless boys grim, determined, yet light-hearted, ready to fight as only Americans can fight. Men from the farms, farms in the east where fifty well-tilled acres was a fine homestead; farmers from that great and spacious west where a man called miles of land his own. Professional men, clerks, divinity students, adventurers, all welded by this great need into a common likeness. Eager for life, yet fearlessly ready to die if need be, a mighty army was on its way, was drawing nearer and nearer to the tired troops below. Overhead an adventurous plane or two hummed in the darkness.
"And we can't help!" said Porky mournfully. "Not a thing we can do, not a thing!"