"I'll answer for your brother," said Jimmy. "He's sort of incapacitated just now, as you'll be a little later. No, you didn't do for us, and you can't now. The jig is up for you fellows."
Aleck did not answer, and soon he was lying beside his rascally brother, incapable of movement or speech. Roger and Jimmy now wore dry uniforms, and the change was grateful.
"Well, so far so good," murmured Roger, as he and his chum found time to rest themselves and catch their breath. "Hello, chocolate in this pocket!" he cried, as he felt a cake in the pocket of the uniform Wilbur had worn.
"Hope I have the same luck," said Jimmy. "Yes," he added a moment later, "I've got some, too. Say, this will come in mighty fine!"
"Well, now what's the game?" asked Roger, as he glanced at his chum. "How much longer are we going to stay here?"
"Until the two men, probably Germans, whom the Bixtons were to meet here, show up," was the answer.
"And then what?"
"Well, as soon as we hear them coming in we'll douse the glim."
"What's the idea? Think we can fight 'em better in the dark?"
"No, but they won't be so apt to notice that we aren't the same signal corps fellows they expected to meet. It's possible one of the Huns may have a pocket flashlight—very probable, in fact. But that won't be very likely to give the game away. They'll see two signal corps uniforms, and they'll take us for the Bixtons, I hope."