On they sped till the road merged into a street lined with shops, where children in wooden shoes and men in blouses shuffled about. Tom thought he had never seen people so slow in his life.
DOWN THE HILL COASTED UNCLE SAM BEARING TOM FURIOUSLY ONWARD.
Now, indeed, he must make some concession to the throngs moving back and forth, and he slackened his speed, but only slightly.
"Dieppe?" he called.
"Dieppe," came the laughing answer from a passer-by, who was evidently amused at Tom's pronunciation.
"Where's the wharves?"
Again that polite shrug of the shoulders.
He took a chance with another passer-by, who nodded and pointed down a narrow street with dull brown houses tumbling all over each other, as it seemed to Tom. It was the familiar, old-world architecture of the French coast towns, which he had seen in Brest and St. Nazaire, as if all the houses had become suddenly frightened and huddled together like panicky sheep.