"Good old scout," approved Billy, while the boys laughed.
"Well, we're not as badly off as that yet," said Frank, "although this hand of mine is smarting to beat the band."
"And my head is aching ready to split," added Billy. "One inch to the left and it would have been all up with your uncle Billy."
The fighting was resumed at dawn, and again it was the Germans who attacked. They had counted on their advantage of the day before to break the morale of their enemies and hoped by pressure to turn the withdrawal into a rout.
But like so many German calculations since the beginning of the war, they had figured badly. The Allies, stung by their discomfiture of the day before, fought like tigers. They beat the Germans back and took the offensive in their own hands.
The Germans retreated, though staunchly contesting every foot of ground. In the front of Frank's company the enemy had established a machine gun nest that was particularly effective. Again and again the Americans sought to clean them out, but were met with such a galling fire that they lost heavily, and at last the captain decided that the guns were not worth the price he was paying to get possession of them. Yet the position would be of so much advantage, if captured, that he hesitated at changing his course and choosing another line of advance.
In the litter and wreck of the field, Frank's keen eye had caught sight of two big barrels filled with clothing for the troops. The barrels had been dropped from a wrecked motor lorry of a supply train. Like a flash an inspiration came to him.
He consulted a moment with Bart, whose eye lighted up as he nodded assent. Then he stepped up to his captain and saluted.