“I believe he will, at that,” remarked Roger, as the car rolled down the company street. “You shouldn’t have told him to do it, Bob.”
“Oh, he understood this time that I was only kidding him,” was the light rejoinder. “Look who’s here!” he exclaimed, as the car stopped at a hail from a waiting group of six soldiers.
Crowded into the tonneau with strangers, neither Bob nor Roger saw fit to continue the subject of Ignace. Both were soon exchanging good-humored commonplaces with their soldier companions of the ride.
Once fairly outside camp limits, the load of rollicking soldier boys were soon raising their voices in a lusty rendering of “Where Do We Go From Here?” With the prospect of an afternoon and evening of freedom before them, they were all in high spirits. Traveling a somewhat rough road, the frequent jolting they met with whenever the car went over a bump merely added to their hilarity. An unoffending motorist ahead of them, driving along in a somewhat rickety runabout, presently became an object of marked concern. A running fire of military commands gleefully shouted out at the swaying machine as it lurched along soon caused its luckless driver to speed up and scuttle out of sound of the derisive calls which greeted him from the rear. Uncle Sam’s boys were out for fun and intended to have it.
An hour’s ride brought the revelers into Tremont. Arrived in the heart of the city, which boasted a population of about one hundred thousand, Jimmy, Bob and Roger took friendly leave of their noisy fellow travelers.
“Now where do we go from here?” asked Roger, as the trio halted together on a corner of Center Street, Tremont’s main thoroughfare, and looked eagerly about them.
“To a restaurant for grub,” was Bob’s fervent response. “I know a place where the eats are O. K. I told you fellows that the first newspaper job I ever tackled was on a morning paper in this town. I lived here about three months. Just long enough to make good on the paper. Then I beat it back to the big town and landed with the Chronicle. I know every historic cobblestone in this lovely burg.”
As none of the three had stopped for the noon meal at Camp Sterling, they lost no time in patronizing the restaurant of Bob’s choice.
After weeks of uncomplainingly accepting in their mess kits the wholesome though monotonous rations of the Army, a real bill of fare to choose from was a rare treat. In consequence they lingered long at table and, according to Jimmy, “filled up for a week,” before starting out to “see the sights.” This last consisted of a stroll through the principal streets, with stops along the way at various shops, there to purchase a few trifles, such as had caught their fancy while pausing to stare into attractive show windows. Then followed a visit to a motion-picture theater, where a feature photoplay was going on. From there they drifted into another “movie palace,” and so amused themselves until supper time. The evening was devoted to witnessing a “real show” at Tremont’s largest theater. It was a lively farce comedy and the boys enjoyed it.
Meanwhile, Ignace So Pulinski was putting in a most lonely afternoon and evening at Camp Sterling. Temporarily deprived of the lively society of his Brothers, he was at a loss to know what to do with himself. Part of the afternoon he spent in wandering gloomily about camp, frequently consulting the dollar watch he carried, in a wistful marking of the slow passing of the time. Aside from his bunkies, few of the men in his barrack had ever taken the trouble to cultivate his acquaintance. During his first days in camp they had regarded him as “a joke,” privately wondering what three live fellows like Jimmy, Bob and Roger could see in “that slow-poke” to make a fuss over. After his wrathful descent upon bullying Bixton, he had undoubtedly risen in estimation. He had signally proved his ability to take care of himself. No longer classed as “a joke” he achieved the title of “that wild Poley” and was accorded a certain amount of grudging respect that made for civil treatment but little friendliness.