"Let them," murmured a lad. "What a blessed privilege. Anyone would think that he was giving us a furlough for good conduct."
"Save your breath and come along," admonished Billy. "You'll need all you've got in a little while."
The squad was marched off to a little hut that stood in a distant corner of the camp. It was a crude creation with a door and only one window. Long before they got to it the boys could detect a faint acrid odor in the atmosphere.
"Now," said the sergeant halting his men at a little distance, "you fellows break ranks and come along in single file."
The single room of the hut had been filled with the same kind of gas that the Germans were using along the western front, but in greatly diluted form.
"Take off your masks," commanded the sergeant, "and go along past that window one by one. Make quick time too. I want you to learn just what the gas smells like, so that you can detect it the minute it comes near you after you get to the trenches."
The men obeyed orders, and, as they passed, each got a whiff of the gas that was escaping through a slight opening of the window. There was a gasp, a cough, a wry face and a hurried scuttling by as each man went through the ordeal.
It is needless to say that there was no disposition to linger. Even the slowest man of the squad displayed unsuspected capacity for speed.
"Look at Fatty Bates," chuckled Billy, alluding to the most ponderous member of the company. "Talk about winged heels! Mercury has nothing on him."
"It certainly got a rise out of Fatty," grinned Bart. "It's worth a dollar to see him jump. Put a gas cloud after him and I'll bet he'd do a hundred yards in ten seconds flat."