“It’s a pretty pickle we’re in,” Henri managed to say when a shell screamed over the hole.
“It sure is,” admitted Billy, as a round-shot scattered dust particles and showered them into the hiding place.
“‘We won’t go home till morning,’” this warble by Henri, a rather feeble attempt to be gay.
“Maybe you won’t go home at all,” was the gloomy expression of opinion by Billy.
“I wonder if the sergeant has missed us yet?” Henri was wondering.
The ground was shaking and then a sound as though the earth was being hammered with ten thousand clubs in as many giant hands.
In the early dawn the Allies were charging the German entrenchments.
The howitzers thundered; battle cries and commands resounded.
The Allies’ forces whirled by and on both sides of the underground shelter where the boys were crouching.
With the clash of arms behind them Billy and Henri clambered out of the hole and spurted for dear life and safety.