Jimmy raised himself on his elbow and looked after the disappearing signal corps squad. The two men carrying the black electrical box were in the rear now.
"They're the same two—no question of that," decided Jimmy. "But I may be wrong in thinking they were having a secret meeting with spies. Those civilians may be spies, but I don't believe any of our soldiers would be in any underhand scheme with them. Maybe they were laying pipes to capture the spies, or even bag bigger game. I guess that was it. Hang it! I wish I could get up and follow them. I'd like to have a talk with those fellows!"
But when Jimmy tried to sit up he found how weak he really was. The blow on the head had put him out of the fighting for the time being.
"Anything I can do for you, old man?" asked a Salvation Army worker, coming along just then. He had been going about giving hot soup to such of the injured as could take it, and now it was Jimmy's turn.
"Yes, I would like a bit," answered Jimmy Blaise to this rough and ready angel of mercy in the guise of an unshaven Salvation Army man. "That's great!" murmured Jimmy, as the soup brought new life to him.
He felt so much revived that a few minutes later, when an orderly came past and stopped beside Jimmy, the Khaki Boy began a conversation.
"Is the signal corps ordered to any special place?" he asked.
"Oh, no, just out on general work," was the answer. "The Germans shot away some of our telegraph lines, and they're going to repair 'em, I guess. Wish I was with 'em, but I can't be," and he sighed.
"Like that sort of work?" asked Jimmy.
"You bet! I'm a telephone repair man back home, and I was in the signal corps until I got a wound that put me out. I'm getting better, and I'll soon be able to chuck this orderly berth, put on my spurs and take my pliers again."