“That might be just camouflage though, to make us think that we could talk freely without paying any attention to him,” objected Frank. “He may be as crazy as a fox.”
“I don’t think so,” said Billy. “He’s pretty old and his mind is failing. I heard him half a dozen times muttering something about ‘the cellar, the cellar.’ It got on my nerves after a while.”
“Well, don’t let’s trouble trouble till trouble troubles us,” counseled Frank. “There may be nothing in it at all. I wouldn’t hang a yellow dog on all the evidence we’ve got. In the meantime, that bed looks inviting and I’m going to tumble in early.”
“I’m with you there,” said Tom. “It’s so long since I’ve slept between sheets that I’m anxious to see how it feels.”
It was indeed a delightful contrast to their experiences for months past, and they slept soundly until they were called to breakfast the next morning.
“What are we going to do with our leave today?” asked Frank, as they were hurriedly dressing.
“Just loaf and invite our souls,” replied Tom, as he put down his military brushes and took a last look in the glass, with the fair Alice in mind.
“Luxemburg’s a tidy little city,” put in Billy, “and there ought to be lots to see. Wouldn’t do, I suppose, to take the girls along.”
“Not on your young life,” said Frank emphatically. “You’d get in the guardhouse so soon it would make your head swim. What’s the matter with you fellows, anyway? You’ve both been primping up like a couple of dudes. Are you so badly smitten?”
“Not at all,” denied Tom stoutly, though a deeper flush on his bronzed face might have given rise to doubt.