"You said something!" chimed in Franz Schnitzel, who, in spite of his Teutonic name, was one of the best of Uncle Sam's doughboys. "It's the only way to make the stupid Germans, not to call them anything worse, realize that we're not here to play tag with them. The heavier the fighting, the quicker they'll be ready to give up. But what's the use of talking about more fighting? Here we are, relieved of duty for to-day, at least, and let's enjoy it while we can. We'll be back in the trenches soon enough."
"That's so!" agreed Jimmy. "Hello over there, Iggy!" he called to a lad sitting at a table on which glowed an electric light. "Are you writing in Polish or English?" he asked, for the lad he addressed as "Iggy," but whose name was Ignace Pulinski, was laboring with pen, ink and paper.
"It is English I am writ him, an to my mothar," was the answer. "No more Polish do I him write. I am a 'Merican now and for always."
"That's the way to talk, Iggy!" cried Bob. "Do you want any help with that letter? It seems to be more important than usual."
"Sure him is reportment," agreed Iggy, looking up and drawing in his tongue, which, while writing, had been stuck out of his mouth, following every laborious movement of his pen. "I am to my mothar sending my share of the money that Sergeant Jimmy broke up on us."
"Oh, you mean the five thousand francs he whacked up with us, Iggy," laughed Franz. "That's the word, 'whacked,' not broke, though no matter how much money someone whacks up with you, you'll be broke as soon as you haven't any."
"English him is a queer talk," sighed Iggy. "But I am writ to my mothar that I send her the two hundred dollars Sergeant Jimmy gave me. By jolly, that's a heap of money!" and his eyes glistened. "My faothar—he work many a days and he never get so much. But I no send this to my faothar—he is of no good. To my mothar this money goes, and she will kick for joy."
"You mean she'll dance for joy!" laughed Jimmy. "That's all right, Iggy. No offense meant," he went on as he saw his Polish friend look at him rather sharply. "You want to learn English, you know, even if it is a queer language, and you told us to correct you when you made mistakes."
"Sure. So I did. I am of a thanks to you. But my mothar, she will of joy have a lot when she gets this money. It—it is more as she haf ever seen of a once," and there was something in Iggy's tone that put a stop to further joking on this line.
The Polish lad went on with his letter-writing. As he had said, he was enclosing a money order for two hundred dollars. This was his share of a reward of five thousand francs which Sergeant Jimmy Blaise won for putting out of the way a certain "Charles Black," who, it turned out, was an Austrian spy named Adolph von Kreitzen. Jimmy, who in private life was wealthy, had insisted on sharing his reward with the other of the "Five Brothers," as the Khaki Boys were often called.