“Pull through is right,” remarked the corporal. “It is a pull.”
“If I was the boss of this outfit,” Gill said, with an apologetic grin at Herbert, “I’d just get up and slip down yonder and take them fellers prisoner and march ’em into our lines. Nerve is what counts; if they saw us coming from up out of the earth, they’d all throw up their hands and holler ‘kamerad’!”
“I’m afraid not, Gill; we won’t risk it, anyway,” said Herbert. “The inside of a Hun prison camp wouldn’t look good to any of us and unless we wanted to commit suicide on the spot, they’d get us. Twelve men against a good many thousand makes the odds too great; eh, boys?”
The remarks in reply to Herbert’s were characteristic:
“Stayin’ here is bad enough, but ketchin’ Hun cooties is worse!”
“Me fer layin’ low some more.”
“I’d like to see the good little old United States again if I can.”
“This place looks good enough to me just now, though it might have hot and cold water, real sheets on the beds and a kitchen.”
“If we’ve got to stay here long enough and the Jerries down there wouldn’t object to the noise, we might accommodate you and build a hotel.”
“Reminds me of the Connecticut Yankee they tell about who got wrecked on nothing but a sand bar in the ocean and in two years he had a prosperous seaport going, with two factories and a railroad. Who’s a liar?”