"Don't do what?" demanded Dowley, turning scowling eyes on Hal.
"Give him back his wallet, Dowley. That's carrying a joke too far."
"I haven't——" was as far as Private Dowley got when Private William Green, who was twenty-two years old, tall, raw-boned, freckled and sandy haired, heard the word and clapped a hand to his own hip pocket.
"I've been touched—robbed—right in the heart of United States forces!" yelled Private Green, turning and staggering back.
"Give it back to him, Dowley," urged Hal.
"What do you mean? To say that I——" sputtered Dowley, clenching his fists as though he meant to hurl himself at Hal Overton.
But Private William himself settled the problem by hurling himself weakly at Dowley and running his hands over his comrade's clothing.
"There it is," yelled William. "My wallet—right in Dowley's trousers' pocket."
"Of course," nodded Private Hal. "Dowley did it as a joke, but it looks like carrying a joke too far."
Dowley, seeing that further denial was useless, broke into a guffaw. Then he thrust a hand into his pocket, producing the wallet. William Green pounced upon it with an exclamation of joy.