"Say, Franz ought to meet them!" declared Bob. "He could tell them something about Mike and the ground glass and poison list that would change their mind about the character of their sweet cousin."
"I don't believe anyone could change their minds," affirmed Jimmy. "They're too mean, themselves, for that. Well, Roger and I are not worrying. Now then, what's the news here since we went away? Any rumors of a fight?"
"Plenty of 'em!" said Bob. "The air is full of rumors, and I guess it will soon be full of bullets. We're going over the top again in the morning."
"Well, the sooner the better," said Jimmy. And though he spoke lightly there was an undercurrent of meaning in his words. Going over the top in the morning always meant many gaps in the ranks the following night. But it had to be done.
The Khaki Boys were sitting in their dugout awaiting their turn to go on duty, a turn which would come soon after mess, when they were startled by hearing out in the main trench excited cries of:
"No! No! It can't be done! It's agin th' regerlations!"
And then, as if in an answering chorus in a play, there sounded deep voices, saying:
"We want pie! We want pie!"
"Oh, fer th' love of spoons, let me alone, will you? Ain't it hard enough to give you reg'ler stuff without havin' you ask fer pie? Pie! Why, my great wash boiler, how'm I goin' to make pie? It can't be done, I tell you! It can't be done!"
And again came in solemn chorus.