"The 'ditch' is full of 'em this morning," was Jimmy's grim response. "Most of that crack Prussian regiment is taking a long sleep out there in No Man's Land. Their fire trench is all smashed in and the Dutchies don't dare show a head. Our fellows are potting 'em right along. You ought to see it."
"I'm going to."
Bob swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood up, swaying a little. "Hang the rainmakers," he grumbled. "Bobby was a sick Sammy, but he's improving werry fast. Come on, let's beat it out of here. I'm going back to the fire trench and enjoy myself. My pack is kicking around here somewhere. That shell did for my helmet. You'd better go on ahead. I'll follow soon. Goodness knows what happened to my rifle. I can get another easily enough."
Jimmy could not help smiling. Nothing short of utter disablement would keep restless Bob long in bed.
"You lie down and take it easy," he admonished. "I'm going back to tell the fellows you're still alive and kicking."
"Sure I'm alive," grinned Bob. "Kicking, of course I am. Who wouldn't be? Do you think a little biff on the bean is going to keep Bobby indoors? Nix. You go ahead and break the glad news to Iggins and Rodge. I'll rustle up my lost traps and kiss this place good-bye. They've got their hands full here. They'll never miss me."
Thus urged, Jimmy left the first-aid dugout and hurried back to the front-line trench to apprise his bunkies of the good news. Good old Bob had been spared to them. He thanked God for that. Yet his heart was heavy with sadness, as he thought of Franz Schnitzel.
He could not reconcile himself to believe that he would never see Schnitz again. Within him rose a curious conviction that their good-bye in the shell crater had not been a final farewell. He had a "hunch," as it were, that Schnitz and himself would meet again, and before long.