Jimmy broke the silence that had fallen upon both, succeeding Bob's humorous remark concerning his Polish Brother.
"It certainly does. I had a funny standing-up nightmare about old Sterling last night." Bob grinned reminiscently. "I'd braced my back against the wall of this box and was taking forty winks. I'd been thinking about that Bixton affair and old Schnitz, and I dreamed that good old Major Stearns was a Boche spy, and that he was trying to finish me with a bayonet. He'd just given me an awful punch in the chest and I was yelling: 'What's eating you, you rough neck!'
"The sound of my own voice woke me up, and I found that a man next to me had hauled off and binged me one in his sleep. It was a joke, and we both laughed after we got wise to ourselves. Wonder you didn't hear me yowl."
"I've heard so many different kinds of yowls since I landed in this jug that I'm used to 'em. Well, it's a great life if you don't weaken."
Jimmy yawned and, reaching for his water bottle, took a long drink.
"Hope we stop somewhere soon," he observed. "I've emptied this bottle, and I'm still thirsty."
Shortly afterward his wish for a speedy detrainment was granted. A series of jolts, which caused the imprisoned Sammies to behave like nine-pins, except that they had not sufficient space to topple over, and the famous "Eight Horses" came at last to a full stop.
Freed at last, the Khaki Boys gladly hustled from the ungracious box-cars to the platform of a village station, dotted as usual with the friendly French folk, whom the Khaki Boys had noticed were always in evidence wherever they went.
The two detachments of Uncle Sam's boys had hardly left the train, however, before they discovered that for once they were not the center of attraction. Waiting on the platform to enter the train they had just left was a company of slightly wounded French soldiers returning from active service on the firing line.
Though these men were still able to walk, they presented a pitiful sight. With arms or heads bound up in blood-stained bandages, their faces wan and racked by pain, they brought home to the full the grim horror of the trenches. Yet nearly every face wore an attempt at a smile. Bandaged heads made gay attempts at nodding to the villagers who were worshiping at their shrine in true French fashion.