"Say, fellers—everybody! Let's give a big hooraw for the noble land of France. Now, then, are you ready? Hip, hip——"
The yell that followed might almost have made the French think that the Boches had made a land attack from the sea, did they not know that now such was impossible.
And now, even if the mess had not been called for many hours after the landing, the khaki-clad boys would not have gone hungry, for as they fell in line on command and filed down from the ship hundreds of kindly-faced girls, lads, women and even old men, greeted them smilingly and tendered each soldier a dainty, ample bit of delicious food: meaty sandwiches, tasty little cakes, cups of milk and sour wine—looking surprised, indeed, when the latter was refused by many, Herb and Roy being among this number.
Lieutenant Loring, standing near and noticing this, said to the boys:
"You are right, fellows, of course, morally considering the matter, but here it is a little different from our country. The water is generally vile and often you will have to endanger your health or go thirsty; besides, there is so little alcohol in this common wine, 'vin-ordinaire,' they call it, that it is really not intoxicating. That may let you down occasionally for a drink of it when you can't get milk."
Again, when thousands of long cigarettes came their way, Herb and Roy were among a very few who refused them. The donors were taken aback, indeed. But the boys' messmates, those of their company, had long since acknowledged the sanity of the arguments against tobacco, even though failing in the practise of abstinence.