“Well,” said Tom, “it seems that in one of the recruiting camps an officer was questioning some of the men with an idea of finding out what they would do in a certain emergency. As he went down the line, he came to a darky.
“‘Now, ’Rastus,’ the officer said, ‘suppose you were out in an open field on scouting duty, and suddenly you saw a whole regiment of Germans running toward you, bayonets fixed and ready for business. What would you do?’
“‘Whut would ah do? Why, boss, ah wouldn’t do a thing. Ah’d just say tuh mah feet: “Feet, do yuh duty,” and, boss, ah’m mighty suah dey would.’”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE CELLAR
A burst of laughter greeted the climax of Tom’s story.
“And now,” said Bart, “I propose that we wander over to the canteen and proceed to wrap ourselves around some apple pie and a few large and succulent doughnuts.”
The proposition met with instant acclaim, and without further debate the boys streamed off to the canteen where were sold the delicacies that made a special appeal to the soldiers after the regulation “chow.” They found the place crowded, but there was always room for more, and they squeezed their way in and demanded that the man behind the counter “shake a mean foot” and place before them the required “eats.” This was done, and big chunks of pie disappeared in magical fashion.
“Wow!” exclaimed Billy, with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “If I ever get back home again, I’m going to enter myself in a pie-eating contest. I’ll probably become champion of the world, but even if I’m not, it will be an awful lot of fun trying.”
“The rest of us would run you a pretty good race,” grinned Tom.
“You think so, eh?” Billy came back at him. “All right, I’ll challenge you all as soon as we get back to the States and may the best man win.”