“But how can we dig a tunnel without the tools?” demanded Pudge, almost pathetically, “and what have we got to blow them up with, I want to know?”
Billy laughed derisively.
“We couldn’t if we would, Pudge,” he remarked, “and we wouldn’t if we could. We came over here on business for the Sea Eagle Company, Limited, and not to take a hand in shortening the supply of the Kaiser’s brave soldiers.”
“Then what are we meaning to do about it?” the fat boy kept on asking. “I want to know, because to tell you the truth, I’m not feeling very comfortable right now.”
“Frank, have you thought up that scheme yet?” asked Billy, just as indifferently as though it might be the regular program for Frank to figure out a method of escaping from each and every ill that beset them.
“I think there’s a way to do it,” Frank responded. “This swale we’re lying in, as near as I can tell, keeps right along in a crooked fashion, but always bearing in a direction that will take us away from the windmill.”
“Oh! that’s the game, then, is it?” cried Billy. “You lead off, and we follow after you like a trailing snake? Well, I’m pretty good on the crawl, and when it’s necessary I can wriggle to beat the band.”
“Yes,” sang out Pudge with a groan, “but how about me? I’m not built to make a good wriggler, and you know it, fellows. It’s going to be awful tough on a fellow whose body is so thick that it looms up above the sheltering bank some of the time. I’ll be fairly riddled with shot, sooner or later. Please tell me how I’m going to manage it, won’t you?”
“There’s only one thing for you to do, Pudge,” Billy jeered.
“What’s that?” asked the unhappy Pudge.