"Right you are," agreed Stone enthusiastically.
Then as a trumpet rang out he added: "That's the signal for a rehearsal, fellows, and I'll have to get on the job. We're going to put our machines through their paces. I'm mighty glad to have seen you again, and I wish you no end of luck."
"Come over to our line when you get a chance and see the way our boys are shaping up," was Frank's invitation, which was echoed heartily by the others.
"You bet I will," responded Stone, as with a wave of his hand he went to his work, while the boys strolled back to their quarters.
"He's the real stuff," commented Frank. "All wool and a yard wide."
"He'd rather fight than eat," observed Tom.
"If the Canadians take him as a sample, no wonder they're glad to see
Uncle Sam mix in," remarked Billy.
Some days went by, days of steady rush and preparation. It was evident that some big operation was near at hand. Troops were moved up from other portions of the long line that stretched from Switzerland to the sea. There were the bronzed Tommies in khaki, the snappy, dashing poilus in their uniforms of corn-flower blue, veterans hardened in a score of battles from Ypres to Verdun. And right alongside of them in closest comradeship and gallant rivalry were the stalwart sons of the United States of America, the very flower of her youth, who had already had their baptism of fire and who had sworn to themselves that no flag should be further in the van than Old Glory when it came to the stern test of battle.
Nearer and nearer the tanks had crept to the front of the line and taken up their places in front of great openings that had been made in the wire entanglements and skilfully concealed from the enemy.
A certain number of them were assigned to lead each regiment, and the Camport boys' delight was great when they saw that Jumbo, with a squad of assisting tanks, had been told off to lead their regiment.