"It makes me mad, too—kind of," said Tom.
"So he's probably got some secret means of identification about him, and probably the new code key in actual form—somewhere else than just in his head. Then there'd be a chance of getting it across even if he fell. We'll give him an acid bath and look in his shoes if we can find him. The whole thing hangs on a pretty thin thread. They used to have invisible writing on their backs till we started the acid bath."
He whistled reflectively for a few moments, while Tom struggled to muster the courage to say something that he wished to say.
"Could I tell you about that other idea of mine?" he blurted finally.
"You sure can, Tommy. That's about all we're likely to get—ideas." And he glanced at Tom again with that funny, sideways look. "Shoot, my boy."
"It's only this," said Tom, still not without some trepidation, "and maybe you'll say it's no good. You told me once not to be thinking of things that's none of my business."
"Uncle Sam's business is our business now, Tommy boy."
"Well, then, it's just this, and I was thinking about it while I was riding just after I started away from Cantigny. Mostly I was thinking about it after I took that last special look at old Piff——"
Mr. Conne chuckled. "I see," he said encouragingly.
"Whoever that feller is," said Tom, "there's one thing sure. If he's comin' as a soldier he won't get to the front very soon, 'cause they're mostly the drafted fellers that are comin' now and they have to go in training over here. I know, 'cause I've seen lots of 'em in billets."